
FRANCES 

CAMPBELL 

SPARHAWK 




















































































































































' 





















































































































































































































BOOKS BY 

FRANCES C. SPARHAWK 


DOROTHY BROOKE’S SCHOOL DAYS 
Illustrated, 8vo, cloth. $ 1.50 

DOROTHY BROOKE’S VACATION 
Illustrated, 8vo, cloth. $1.50 

DOROTHY BROOKE’S EXPERIMENTS 
Illustrated, 8vo, cloth. $1.50 

A LIFE OF LINCOLN FOR BOYS 
Illustrated, i2mo, cloth. 75 cents 


THOMAS Y. CROWEEE COMPANY 
NEW YORK 



See page 7 . 

THE CANOE SWEPT INTO THE SHADE OF THE MAPLES. 



DOROTHY BROOKE 
AT RIDGEMORE 


BY 

FRANCES C. SPARHAWK y 

u 

AUTHOR OF 

DOROTHY BROOKE’S SCHOOL DAYS,” “ DOROTHY BROOKE’S VACATION,” 
“ DOROTHY BROOKE’S EXPERIMENTS,” ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED BY 
FRANK T. MERRILL 



NEW YORK 

THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 




Copyright, 1912, by 
Thomas Y. Crowell Company 


■ • - 

■' *> 


®CLA320813 ^ 

4U) ri^. 


/ 


To 

S. M. P. 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER pAGE 

I. Days at Home 1 

II. Something New to Dorothy .... 13 

III. Dia Chesterdown 25 

IV. Harry Arrives 33 

V. The Evening at Ridgemore .... 41 

VI. Harry Peays Host 50 

VII. Dorothy's New Interest 58 

VIII. “ Come to My Wedding ” 70 

IX. Dia Scores a Success 79 

X. “ Mr. Bridges, Dorothy ” 89 

XI. Rose Hewes' Modee 101 

XII. Winter Work and Peay 110 

XIII. A Chase in the Night 121 

XIV. On the River 131 

XV. Accusation 139 

XVI. Ned Eongeey and Dorothy at Work . 147 

XVII. A Satisfaction 158 

XVIII. Longeey Investigates 163 

XIX. An Amazing Discovery 172 

XX. Summer Days 184 

XXI. A New Status 197 


v 


CONTENTS 


vi 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XXII. Some) One) Asks a Question . . . 202 

XXIII. Whispered Words 211 

XXIV. A Theatre Party 220 

XXV. A TedEGram 228 

XXVI. Mrs. LongeEy 236 

XXVII. Dorothy and Rex Entreat . . . 245 

XXVIII. What Shade She Do? 255 

XXIX. ChareEy Bridges Opens the Way . 261 

XXX. Facing the Wored 270 

XXXI. Experience 279 

XXXII. Mr. Bridges, Sr 287 

XXXIII. Shade He Do It? 295 

XXXIV. Consudtations 305 

XXXV. Grace LongeEy' s Way 314 

XXXVI. “ The Secret ” 325 

XXXVII. Mr. Harris Again 368 

XXXVIII. Bridges' Conviction 376 

XXXIX. Her Triumph 384 

XL. Codoned Peed Appears .... 394 

XLI. CasteE Buieding 402 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


The canoe swept into the shade of the 

maples Frontispiece 

OPPOSITE PAGE 

“The gentlemen pay” 50 

“ You've hit the air I have ” 102 

As SHE LOOKED AT HIM, THE QUICK TEARS SPRANG 

TO HER EYES 1 52 

He bade her good-by at the door 208 

The man was trying to force her to enter 

THE CAR 276 

“ You COULD GIVE HER THE MONEY, CHARLEY ” . 322 

He was wanted at the telephone 374 






























































Dorothy Brooke at Ridgemore 


i 

DAYS AT HOME 

“Yes, Olive, I will if I can. But I’m not sure. I 
must find out first how things are at college. Every- 
thing will be strange, and I may pull the wrong ropes; 
I often do. Besides, I shall have to study very hard 
because I’m entering the sophomore year and must 
keep up.” What Dorothy Brooke meant by keeping 
up was that she must lead, as she generally did; but 
she knew that at first she must be glad to hold her own. 
“ So, I can’t possibly promise to ask you to visit me 
without knowing more about what I’m to meet, and 
what I shall have to do. It will be lovely if I can 
have you.” 

“ Oh, I guess you’ll make it out,” returned her sis- 
ter, nearly three years younger. “ You usually do.” 

“ You remember you went to Hosmer Hall for a 
visit, Olive,” said Harry Brooke, eleven, the youngest 
member of the family. “ Now, it’s my turn. Rex 
is going to invite me to visit him sometime this year. 
I shall go to college. What’s a girls’ school to that? ” 

“ Harry, you’re not polite,” said Dorothy trying to 
keep the fun in her eyes from rippling her lips into a 
smile. 

“ Well ! ” said the little fellow somewhat abashed 


DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


2 

at this accusation. “A girls’ school is all right for 
girls, of course. But I’ve heard ever so many girls — 
two anyway' — say they’d like to be boys; and I never 
heard of a boy that wanted to be a girl — he’d be a 
funny fellow, anyhow! But I’m coming some day to 
visit Rex; and then you’ll see me, Dorothy.” 

“ I hope so, little brother.” And this time the 
speaker allowed her smiles to appear. 

Nemo, the beautiful setter, came bounding toward 
them as the three sat on the veranda steps facing the 
lawn with its magnificent trees, catching glimpses of 
the lake in the distance and of the hills on the far 
horizon. 

Dorothy’s home had never seemed more beautiful 
and more dear to her than in these last weeks of her 
vacation when leaving it for college was so near at 
hand. There were no guests at Brookehurst and she 
had her dear ones all to herself, father, mother, her 
sister Olive and her two brothers. Rex at his college 
would be close to her all the coming year. But rules, 
studies and his college mates would come between 
them. Her anticipations of her work were many and 
brilliant; but she realized the charm of her home life. 
She was thinking of this as she caressed Nemo who 
could not seem to get enough of her petting, until he 
sprang away after a squirrel on the lawn and in an- 
other moment stood barking at the foot of the tree 
from the branches of which the nimble chatterer 
peered down defiantly at him. 

“ Just hear the little thing scolding Nemo,” said 
Dorothy. And they all laughed. 


DAYS AT HOME 


3 


They began to talk of the different pets at Brooke- 
hurst. For where they sat a breeze was blowing and 
the sun was too hot for the exertion of looking these 
up that morning. 

“ You know everything on the place, Dorothy ! 
How you do keep up ! ” cried Harry delighted. 

“ Don’t I — for a girl ! ” laughed his sister teasingly. 

“ Harry is so conceited,” said Olive patronizingly. 

Dorothy smiled and cast a sly glance at the speaker. 
It was considered at home that Olive held herself to be 
always quite up-to-date. 

“ Boys do notice out-of-door matters more than 
girls do,” she added conciliatingly. And the talk went 
on, until Harry cried: 

“ Let’s go to the lake and take our luncheon. It’s 
cool through the woods; and you know I’m a good 
whip, Dorothy. You’ve said so yourself.” 

Both hearers readily assented to his suggestion; 
when at the moment Mrs. Brooke came out of the 
house. She had on hat and gloves, and came toward 
the little group. Bella, the cook, followed her with a 
hamper packed which she placed at the head of the 
steps. Mrs. Brooke announced that she was going 
into the town to carry some things to persons who 
were ill. 

Dorothy sprang up. 

“ Let me go, mother! ” she cried. “ It’s so hot this 
morning, and I know your head aches though you’ve 
not said so. I can tell by the look in your eyes and the 
flush on your cheeks. Harry will drive me. Won’t 
you, Harry? We were just talking about driving.” 


4 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“ But not driving there ! ” muttered the boy under 
his breath. 

Mrs. Brooke had something quite other than ache in 
her eyes as she stood looking at her elder daughter, 
recalling what Dorothy had said the week before 
as she bade her good-night, how good it was to be her 
mother’s “ little comrade ” again, instead of “ that 
typewriter girl,” as by a stupid mistake she had been 
to a number of persons all the previous summer. And 
Dorothy at seventeen as well deserved in heart, if not 
in inches, the pet name by which her mother had called 
her years before. She was still the “ little comrade ” ; 
but more thoughtful, more helpful. And in the past 
when Dorothy had wanted to help, her mother had al- 
ways' allowed her to do so, knowing that unselfishness, 
like other traits good or bad, grows by what it feeds 
upon. Many pleasures had come to the child in return 
which she had received without suspicion of their be- 
ing rewards, but only as mother love. 

“ My headache is not bad, Dorothy,” said Mrs. 
Brooke that September morning. “ But since you are 
so kind, it might be wise in me not to go out in the 
sun. But what does Harry say? ” 

“ It will be jolly to drive Dorothy,” returned the 
little fellow with a doubt in his voice. “ But which 
way are you going? ” 

She told him. 

“ Oh, I don’t like it down there, mamma. It’s so 
ugly, and the air is so bad. Why, Dorothy, it smells 
of smoke and all kinds of things; I guess it’s dirt.” 

“So, you’d rather have mother go down there?” 
asked the girl. 


DAYS AT HOME 


He shook his head. 

“ No; but — I say, don’t any of us go,” he hazarded. 

“ How if you yourself had been born one of those 
little bare-footed fellows down there?” asked Mrs. 
Brooke smiling at him. “ Is it your merit you have 
Brookehurst for your home?” 

After a pause Harry answered: “ No, mamma. 
But then I’ve got it; I’m so much in.” 

“And since you are in, you don’t care to help the 
‘outs’?” 

“Oh, yes, I do. But I wouldn’t go; I’d send. 
Wouldn’t the milk and eggs and such things taste just 
as good if Michael took them? ” 

“ He does Sometimes. But this morning he can’t be 
called off from what he is doing. Besides, Harry, 
carrying milk and eggs and other things as you 
imagine is not all my errand this morning. Michael 
couldn’t do it.” 

Harry made no answer. But his face fell. 

“There’s no need of your going,” Dorothy said to 
him. “ I can arrange for myself. If you’d rather 
not go for mother when she’s not well, stay at home.” 

“You do come down on a fellow so, Dorothy! Of 
course ” 

“Doro coming down on a little fellow like you! 
Why, you must be tremendously bad ! ” cried a voice 
behind the others. And Rex, the older son, a hand- 
some fellow just turned his twenties, sauntered out 
from the house. 

Harry turned with a start. There were tears in 
his voice if he scorned to let them be seen in his 


eyes. 


6 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


“ I’m not so bad as you say,” he apologized. “ I 
do want to be nice to people that haven’t things. It 
was only my nose I minded.” 

“You needn’t be afraid of your nose,” retorted 
Olive. “ It’s not much of a nose, anyway.” 

“ Too bad,” said his mother patting the boy’s 
shoulder and laughing, while Harry hastened to ex- 
plain that most of the trouble had been because he 
was afraid they wouldn’t have time to do these er- 
rands and take the trip through the woods and lunch 
by the lake, as they had planned. 

“If you’re willing to go with Dorothy, come home 
to luncheon; we’ll have it earlier,” said Mrs. Brooke. 
“ Then drive through the woods to the lake ; it will 
be a little cooler and pleasanter than it is now.” 

“ And I’ll go with you both places ! ” cried Olive. 

“ I’m afraid you wouldn’t consider me with my 
nose fine enough for an escort,” said the boy resent- 
fully. 

“ Oh, I won’t look at it. I’ll divide my time be- 
tween Dorothy and the scenery. Now, don’t be huffy, 
Harry,” she added in a different tone. “ Aren’t you 
bright enough to take a joke? ” 

“We never get at loggerheads when mother’s 
around,” thought Dorothy as the three prepared for 
their trip. 

The water sparkled in the afternoon sunshine. The 
hint of coming autumn brilliancy was on bush and 
tree; the air was soft, yet the elixir of life seemed in 
it. 


DAYS AT HOME 


7 

The girl in the canoe on the lake drew in toward 
shore. The young man with her sat watching with 
pleased eyes her paddling; he had been giving her 
hints and good advice, for he himself was a skilled 
paddler. But he had told her that he could not call it a 
lesson; for she did not need that, she managed the 
little craft well. And now Dorothy, her face warmed 
with exercise, her eyes bright with happiness, sat 
watching her companion as the canoe swept into the 
shade of the maples which were beginning to glow 
in the golden month. 

“ You learned a good deal about motoring last sum- 
mer, Dorothy,” said Rex suddenly. “ Bridges must 
be a better teacher than I am.” 

The girl smiled. 

“ No, Rex,” she answered, “ not better. But a little 
more patient, I think, not so apt to tell me half a dozen 
things at once.” And she laughed. “ You see, he 
didn’t expect me to learn everything in one afternoon; 
he took another.” 

“ I’ll warrant he did — a good many of them ! ” ran 
her brother’s thoughts. “ He’d give her all the time 
she’d take.” He stole an anxious look at the girl’s 
joyous face. Was she interested in Bridges, he worn 
dered? If she were, how much? He must know; he 
ought to know. He supposed that some day they 
would have to give up Dorothy to some fellow; but 
he would have to be a mighty nice fellow, Rex de- 
cided, resolving that he would see to that. “ I’m dy- 
ing to know what she thinks of Bridges,” he said to 
himself. “ But I’m not going to be fool enough to 


8 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


tease her to find out, and so nail him to her thoughts. 
I will get a few things about him out of her, 
though.” 

But Rex was not obliged to use the skill he had in- 
tended in drawing from his sister her opinion of the 
young man of whom she had seen so much in the sum- 
mer. Dorothy herself spoke of him with a freedom 
that would have reassured her listener had the 
speaker been any one but Dorothy. But she had re- 
serves of silence, he knew, and it was hard to dis- 
cover the secrets held there. He listened closely, 
however, to what she was telling him. 

“ I wish you knew him, Rex,” she said. “ He’s not 
like the people we’ve seen most of. But he is as 
good, if he’s not so elegant. And though he doesn’t 
assume to know anything and is farthest from any 
knowledge of books as we’ve been taught they should 
be known, he’s a college fellow, and not in the least 
stupid. You really ought to know him, Rex.” 

“ Perhaps I shall some day,” hazarded the other. 
He watched his sister carefully as he said this. Her 
answer, he thought, could scarcely help betraying 
some consciousness of the relations between herself 
and Bridges. 

But Dorothy’s eyes looked into his and her smile 
had no embarrassment in its amusement as she an- 
swered : 

“ Perhaps, Rex, I’m more anxious he should know 
you. He would appreciate you.” 

“ That’s a mighty easy thing to do, there’s so little 
to appreciate,” laughed her brother. He knew no 


DAYS AT HOME 


9 

more than he had known before in what regard she 
held the stranger. 

Suddenly, he remembered the trouble, whatever it 
had been, with Ned Longley and his sister. That 
trouble had been set right. So, there was Longley 
who, Rex felt sure, thought much of Dorothy. There 
was safety in numbers, he quoted to himself. For the 
present at least, Dorothy belonged only to those at 
home. He thrust aside his questionings with himself, 
and enjoyed the glorious weather. 

“ What would have happened if you had come up to 
Mount Rest as you proposed ?” laughed the girl as 
they floated on. “ Mrs. Bridges wouldn’t have mis- 
taken yon for a stenographer ! She’d have discovered 
in you one of the elite, and held on to you for dear 
life.” 

“ Tried to, you mean, Doro.” 

“ Yes, that’s what I mean,” returned Dorothy, and 
laughed again. 

So the happy hours went by. 

A few days before she left home Dorothy had what 
she called an old-fashioned talk with her mother. In 
the freedom of their intercourse the girl uttered 
thoughts which she would have spoken to her only, 
unless in the liberty of her pen she had given them 
impersonal place; and the two discussed questions of 
life of which Dorothy seldom, if ever, had yet come 
to talk with others. She was so glad to have been 
mistaken about Grace and Ned Longley; they had not 
been tired of her, after all, she said. 


10 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


“ You’re always right, mother,” she declared. “ But 
your little comrade has to learn this over again every 
time. It is good to be wanted. And even Mrs. 
Bridges wanted me at last — wanted me to visit her. 
Wasn’t it rich? But that was not until she knew I 
was Judge Brooke’s daughter; so, I’m afraid it 
counted for you and father, and not for me at all.” 

Mrs. Brooke smiled. But no more than Miss Les- 
lie had done, did she enlighten the girl as to the sig- 
nificance of the invitation. 

“ The weeks have flown so fast,” said Dorothy at 
the dinner- table the last evening but one of her stay 
at home. 

That evening beside her father on one of the rustic 
benches of the veranda, she reached out her hand and 
laid it upon his arm. Then as his arm went around 
her, she nestled her head against his shoulder and be- 
gan to tell him about her meeting with Mr. Harris, 
the editor, and his discovery concerning her. 

“ Wasn’t it clever in him to find out I was your 
daughter? He thought I looked like you. I’m proud 
of that.” 

“ So am I, little girl, although I’m not conceited 
enough to agree with him.” 

“ Oh, father, how nice in you! You said that just 
like a young man complimenting me at a party ! ” 

Then they both laughed. 

“ And if you’ll never tell him you know it, if you 
should see him, I’ll tell you something more about 
iwhat we’ve been doing — Mr. Harris and I.” 

And the episode of Dorothy’s story writing and the 


DAYS AT HOME 


ii 


famous editor’s encouragement of her work, in spite 
of rejections, was poured into eager ears. Judge 
Brooke would by no means have had his elder daugh- 
ter aware of the depth of his pride in her, and his 
faith in her abilities. Also, he held himself in as to 
expressions of his affection for her. It would not do, 
he told his wife, to have Dorothy find out that they 
just adored her. She was right to believe to her 
heart’s content that they loved her. 

As he listened to her that evening on the veranda, 
he was glad that they had yielded to her request as to 
her entering college in her sophomore year. Should 
she stay longer than was needed to graduate, the 
higher course would benefit her more. He said this 
to her, and showed his pleasure in the commendations 
of Mr. Harris. 

“ He has excellent judgment, Dorothy,” he said. 

“ Yes, that’s what I’m sure of, papa,” she laughed. 

“ But he has the reputation of it,” he answered her. 

Altogether, it was a most happy evening. As the 
girl kissed her father good-night, he realized more 
keenly than ever how very much they should miss her. 

“ I needn’t be on hand at college for a few days. 
But I’ll run up and settle Dorothy,” Rex announced. 

“ With thanks — no,” said the Judge. “ Don’t go 
before you need. I’ll take Dorothy up myself. I 
want to see how she’s fixed,” he explained. 

Dorothy was glad. Rex was fine. But a college 
fellow even as good as he would not have the dignity 
and importance of her father. She was satisfied that 
he was to introduce her to the dean. 


12 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


The day both dreaded and longed for by her ar- 
rived. She was leaving for a time the beautiful and 
happy home life. But she was going to a new life 
full of wide opportunities and possibilities. 

In her good-bys she forgot nobody, not even Nemo 
and the kittens. 

With eyes that drooped to hide the tears, and lips 
that smiled in spite of them, Dorothy departed. 


II 


SOMETHING NEW TO DOROTHY 

The handsome room at Ridgemore College devoted 
to the occupancy of Miss Aylesford had been con- 
verted from its high purpose of delightful social in- 
tercourse to serve the exigencies of business. With 
chairs drawn up to the tables which were strewn with 
papers, it had the air of a workroom. 

The lady seated alone there at one of the tables 
rose and bowed to Judge Brooke as he entered with 
his daughter ; and then she turned to Dorothy. 

Her father never forgot how Dorothy seemed to 
him at the moment as, having returned the dean’s 
bow, she stood tall and straight, the charm of her 
slenderness, her grace, her fine bearing and her 
beauty of feature and coloring all subordinated to the 
higher beauty of the pure and earnest soul looking 
out of her face. She was a little excited and eager 
in prospect of the coming interview; her eyes had 
deepened their expression and the curve of her lips 
had softened. 

But in the eyes of the dean of Ridgemore as she 
met Dorothy’s was no flash of response to the interest 
of the girl in her; nor did there kindle in her look 
anything of that half pathetic joy of reminiscence 
[with which maturity looks upon youth in its freshness. 
13 


14 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

But the dean was courteous. At her request her 
guests seated themselves. She talked a few moments 
with Judge Brooke, and warmed slightly under his 
commendations of the college and questions concern- 
ing the student life there; it was difficult to be chill- 
ing to him when he wished otherwise. 

But she still seemed indifferent to Dorothy. Finely 
educated and having the deepest interest in the col- 
lege and its rank, she was eminently businesslike in 
thought and aim, and her manner to the students had 
a brevity especially depressing to those newly arrived. 
Dorothy that day sat listening to her, and with a clear 
discrimination of character, said nothing, except to 
answer in the affirmative the single question put to 
her by the dean who asked if she had passed in all her 
examinations and were entering college uncondi- 
tioned? At the girl’s reply, Miss Aylesford looked 
mildly gratified. She called an attendant and confided 
the two to her guidance to Dorothy’s rooms; and the 
interview was at an end. 

Alone with her father, Dorothy looked at him and 
smiled. 

“ Mrs. Claflin couldn’t have helped saying a dozen 
clever things in the time we were in that room,” she 
commented. “ Miss Aylesford did not say one.” 

He laughed. 

“ Don’t be too much on the lookout for scintilla- 
tions, Dorothy. Some occasions are not of sufficient 
importance for fireworks.” 

“ I felt when I was sitting there, father, just like a 
little coral insect; all I was good for was my share in 


SOMETHING NEW TO DOROTHY 15 

building up the reef; for myself I wasn’t of the least 
account. Mrs. Claflin could be sarcastic, to be sure; 
but she was always interested in every one of us, and 
we knew it. And she could be delightful, too; and 
was, for the most part. And as to the dear professor 
— nobody will be like him.” 

“ But they had not a college, dearie,” said her 
father with a quizzical look. 

Dorothy laughed. 

“ Oh, I know,” she said. “I want this, of course. 
Don’t imagine I care for any amount of personal in- 
difference that will not affect my rank in my studies. 
And now we won’t waste our few minutes over any- 
body we don’t care for. Isn’t this a pretty sitting 
room? And here is my bedroom opening off it. All 
the things are good. And when I see in the book- 
case the few special books I’ve brought, and the few 
pictures on the wall, it will look ‘ homey ’.” 

She went on talking cheerfully; and she was 
brave, and even merry at parting. But when her 
father had fairly turned his back upon her, the eyes 
that watched him go were dim with tears. 

“ Pshaw!” she cried, ashamed of her weakness; 
and set herself to unpacking her boxes and placing 
her books and the few trifles she had brought. This 
was cheering. And in the midst of it, two letters just 
received were handed to her. 

“ Mamma is coming with me,” wrote Grace Long- 
ley. “ She would have come, even if Ned had not 
been obliged to go on ahead. This is only a line until 


1 6 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


we meet. That will be to-morrow to you when you 
receive this.” There followed a few reminiscences of 
Hosmer Hall, and the hope that college life would be 
as happy. 

“We shall have to wait to find out,” commented 
the reader. “ But it will go hard with us,” she added, 
“ if we don’t get some good times here, we three and 
Rex and Ned.” 

“Dorothy darling (which means Dorothy 
Brooke),” ran the other letter, “I wish I could have 
arrived the same day with you. But papa could not 
arrange to leave. He must come up with me, you 
know, and see that I have all my rights. Quite differ- 
ent, isn’t it, from the poor little scarecrow dumped 
down at Hosmer Hall two years ago, who would now 
be a scarecrow grown big but for you and all you did 
for me? You don’t like to have me say it; but I will 
write it once in a while. This is not a letter, you 
know, only a line to warn you not to get everything 
done and over before I appear to-morrow morning. 
I know by that time you’ll be on speaking terms with 
about a hundred of the girls; and, of course, be deep 
in literature and science! But I’m sure of the corner 
you’ll have for me. It must be a big one to hold all 
the love of Pell-Mell. Oh, Dorothy, won’t we have a 
good time! ” 

“ Miss Brooke, Miss Morton, Miss Brooke, Miss 
Codman, Miss Winsor, Miss Henderson, Miss Pinck- 


SOMETHING NEW TO DOROTHY 17 

ney,” introduced Miss Gaynor, in charge of the Man- 
sion House, the dormitory in which Dorothy and her 
two friends were to be lodged and boarded. 

The sound of voices in the halls and rooms about 
her had tempted the girl from her solitude, and she 
had run down into the great reception room, the 
meeting place of the students and their visitors, also 
the reading room; for its large table was piled with 
the latest issues of magazines and papers of the first 
rank. 

“ How do you do, Miss Brooke,” said Miss Mor- 
ton. u You came this morning? I hope you’ll like 
all of us. We’re a good set.” And she smiled at 
Dorothy pleasantly. 

“If the whole is equal to the part, I certainly 
shall,” answered Dorothy, returning her smile. 

Miss Morton seemed disposed to say more to her 
when one of the students entering the room at the 
moment, called, “ Clara, do you know when she’s 
coming? ” 

“ ‘ She ’? ” echoed Miss Morton. 

“Oh, you needn’t put on airs. You know well 
enough there’s only one * she ’. You know I mean Dia 
Chesterdown.” As she spoke, she glanced at Dorothy, 
who stood near. Miss Gaynor introduced the new- 
comer. The girl who had just entered bowed to Dor- 
othy without speaking to her, and immediately turned 
back to Miss Morton. “Well, do you know the 
train? ” she repeated. 

“ Are you going down to meet her ? ” inquired 
Clara. 


18 DOROTHY BROOKE AT -RIDGEMORE 


“ I thought of it. We may send a delegation. We’ll 
be glad enough to see her to do it. It’s so nice you 
can tell us.” 

At this assertion half a dozen of the girls crowded 
around Miss Morton. 

“Yes, indeed! It’s fine! Tell us, Clara.” 

Dorothy who was watching her saw an amused look 
on her face as she turned from one to another of her 
questioners. 

“ It’s fine I can tell you what? ” she asked. 

“ What train Dia is coming on to-morrow.” 

a But I can’t. How should I know any more than 
you ? ” 

“ It’s too bad you pretended to,” pouted Miss Win- 
ters who had first asked her. 

“Why, Mattie Winters! I never pretended any 
such thing! You didn’t give me a chance to answer, 
you were so anxious to get to the train in time.” 

“Does anybody else know?” asked Mattie. 
“ Somebody ought to meet her. She’s the brightest 
and handsomest girl in college; and she’s the leader 
of our class.” 

The leader of their class ! Of her class, then. For 
Miss Gaynor had told Dorothy that these girls were 
sophomores; and then, after telling her she hoped col- 
lege life would be pleasant to her, had gone to distant 
duties. But the girls to whom Dorothy had been in- 
troduced, except Miss Morton, had forgotten to speak 
to her in their absorption in Dia Chesterdown. 

At last, however, Miss Codman, the prettiest of the 
group, turned to her courteously. 


SOMETHING NEW TO DOROTHY 19 

“ You’ll see Miss Chesterdown for yourself to-mor- 
row, Miss Brooke,” she said. “ Then you will under- 
stand. Let us go nearer now and find out what they 
are saying about her.” 

“ What shall I understand?” asked Dorothy with 
keen curiosity, approaching the circle with her com- 
panion. 

As she spoke, some of the girls turned and looked 
at her without taking the trouble to reply. But Miss 
Codman answered : 

“ Why, you will see how handsome and bright she 
is, and how fascinating, and understand how we feel 
about her.” 

“ Oh, yes, thank you,” answered Dorothy. And as 
there was nothing more to reply to this statement, she 
said nothing more. Miss Chesterdown was all right, 
she told herself. But she, Dorothy, was a stranger, 
and somebody might say something to show that they 
welcomed her. Yet perhaps they did not. If they 
knew her as one of themselves — a sophomore — with- 
out having been at college the previous year, they 
might not like it. 

Here she was, however, and here she had a right. 
She held her head high and listened openly to the talk 
around her, the greater part of it being about Dia 
Chesterdown. She was glad to recall as she stood 
silent that at Hosmer Hall she had always tried to 
make the newcomers feel at home. At last she spoke. 

a Is Miss Chesterdown one of the chaperons, or one 
in charge in college?” she asked audibly, throwing 
the question into the group of talkers. 


20 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


There was a moment’s silence. Then some of the 
girls snickered; and Susie Codman laughed openly, 
and turned a look of interest upon Dorothy. 

“ You’ve just come, Miss Brooke. You know noth- 
ing about the life here,” said Miss Reed. 

“ That you do not ! ” cried Mattie Winters indig- 
nantly. “ Or you’d know Miss Chesterdown is the 
leader of our class — the sophomores. Why, didn’t 
you just hear us say so?” Then she stared at Miss 
Brooke, and her stare said, “ Who are you? ” 

Miss Morton had picked up a magazine and gone 
to the end of the great room with it. Miss Codman 
stood watching Dorothy, wondering what she would 
say? 

“ Thank you,” the latter returned once more. “ It’s 
true I’ve just arrived and know nothing of the ways 
here. But I’m glad to be informed. So, Miss Ches- 
terdown is the leader of the sophomore class?” She 
did not add what they did not yet know, that she her- 
self belonged to that class, until Miss Codman said to 
her suddenly : 

“ Why, Miss Brooke, are you the student who is to 
enter our class? Do you come here as a sophomore? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Dorothy. 

Then the girls about her looked at her with a scru- 
tiny that was not all a welcome, until Susie Codman’s 
voice broke the silence that no one intended to allow to 
become rudeness. 

“ How nice!” she said. 

“Yes, very nice!” echoed Annie Stillman. 

“ Oh, certainly,” assented one or two voices per- 
functorily. 


SOMETHING NEW TO DOROTHY 21 


For a moment Mattie Winters said nothing. Then 
she returned to the misfortune it was that nobody 
knew by what train Dia Chesterdown was to arrive 
the next day. 

But Dorothy held her own. The glances bestowed 
upon her were less perfunctory. And before she went 
to her room again several of the girls had talked with 
her and were ready to vote her the right sort. Con- 
spicuous among these was Susie Codman. 

Dorothy returned to her room almost immediately 
after dinner, and began upon her home letter. 

But even this did not seem to go smoothly at first. 
Between herself and the pictures of the dear home 
came the vision of the girl who was so beautiful and 
so brilliant, the leader of her class, admired, followed 
by everybody — no, not by everybody willingly. In 
the little that she had seen and heard, Dorothy had 
perceived this. She did not believe Miss Codman ab- 
solutely devoted to Dia. Still, Miss Chesterdown was 
popular, a leader, as Dorothy had always been. The 
girl was desirous to see her. 

“ Here I am in college, where I’ve so longed to be,” 
she said to herself; “ and in the sophomore class where 
I have determined to enter — and I’m nowhere ! 
Then, the dean is a stick, and the girls are not going 
to like me. One may be very good-sized on earth, and 
be much too small for the sun — that’s Dorothy ! ” 

She sat for some time, her pen in an idle hand ; her 
mind following along the path of disagreeable 
thoughts. 

At last, however, she roused herself sharply. 

“Shame! Shame!” she exclaimed half aloud. 


22 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“You disgruntled thing! You’ve always been made 
much of and considered first; and you can’t bear to 
be a nobody! You despised Mabel White in your 
heart for being jealous when she was afraid of losing 
Grace and Ned — a loss worth mourning over. What 
if Dia Chesterdown is first, and you’ve found your 
level? For shame, Dorothy Brooke!” 

And then she went at her letter. Her face cleared 
as she wrote, and it was with a smile that she sealed 
and stamped it and rose to take it to the letter-box in 
the hall. At the moment there came a knock at her 
door. Some one was in the reception room waiting to 
see her. And the maid handed her a card. 

Dorothy’s face lighted still more. 

“ Say I’ll be there directly,” she answered. 

With happy heart she sped downstairs to the room 
that she had so lately quitted feeling herself an out- 
sider. She did not even look at the girls as she wove 
her way through them to the tall figure that rose at 
her entrance and came toward her. The next moment 
her hand was clasped in Ned Longley’s and he was 
looking down into her eyes, his own smiling a wel- 
come. 

“ I thought you’d be ready to see a face you knew,” 
he said as he watched her. “Of course, you’re too 
plucky to feel homesick; but somebody who has been 
in your own home will count to-night. Shall we go to 
the other side of the room? It’s more quiet. We can 
talk better there.” 

“ Oh, it was so good of you to come when, you’re 
so busy,” said the girl. 


SOMETHING NEW TO DOROTHY 23 

“ It was my pleasure,” he answered. 

“ I mustn’t confess it; but I was a little homesick,” 
she said. “ But Grace and Priscy come to-morrow. 
Then I shall feel as if my feet were on my native 
heath.” 

“ It won’t take you long to do that,” he answered 
smiling. Not for the world would he have told her, 
nor had he hinted to his mother and Grace that one of 
the “ pressing duties ” which had brought him here the 
day before his sister had been because he knew that 
Dorothy would be lonely and he wanted to come to 
her. He was glad to be the first old friend to greet 
her at Ridgemore. 

As they talked somewhat of the past, yet with that 
outlook toward the future which belongs to youth, 
Longley perceived that, as Dorothy with light step 
climbed the hill of life, every year was adding to the 
sweep of her vision. Nor did he fail to perceive that 
it was also adding to her attractiveness, he would not 
call it fascination because to him that term implied a 
certain effort, and Dorothy’s greatest charm was that 
she was simple — always herself, and a self so noble 
and lovely. The months, they had seemed years to him, 
when through the malice of Mabel White, Grace and 
he had almost lost her friendship, had taught him bet- 
ter than ever the value of Dorothy’s presence. The 
dark days had gone, he told himself. In the thought 
of the coming years of college life when there would 
be many glimpses of her and study and writing with 
her in the dramatic work they both loved, his heart 
glowed with delight. All that was to come he must 


24 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

conquer — he could. He did not see why life should 
not be happy, and a triumph ? 

Dorothy in her room once more, realized that here 
the strangers did not have it, after all. For she was in 
the heart of her old friendships, and she could make as 
many acquaintances as she wished. She was going to 
like Miss Codman. To-morrow would come Dia 
Chesterdown, the leader. It might be that she would 
not always lead. Or if she did, if she were more 
talented and brilliant than Dorothy, would she herself 
be deserted on that account? 

She remembered what Ned had said to her when she 
had wondered, even in her glimpse of college life and 
its rush, how he could find time to work with her? 
He had looked at her with a smile which, as she re- 
called it, kept her from being lonely, it was so full of 
his friendship for her; and he had answered her that 
with her permission he would find time for it this year 
also, and that it ought to be easier here where they 
could talk things over instead of having to write them. 
Then he had laughed a little and added one always 
found time for what one would do. 

“ Yes, I may have found my level,” said Dorothy 
to herself that night, thinking of Dia. “ But it’s going 
to be a high level.” 


Ill 


DIA CHESTERDOWN 

Dorothy had been nearly a month at the college 
when one morning she took an electric car into the 
large city almost at the doors of Ridgemore. Priscy 
Pell was with her. The two found seats together at 
the front end of the car. 

At the next stop a young woman entered and 
seated herself on the opposite side and farther down 
the car. She was of good height and well developed 
figure, but not plump. She was gowned with richness 
and in. fine taste and carried herself proudly, seeming 
not to see other occupants of the car than Dorothy and 
Priscy, to whom she bowed with a slight condescen- 
sion. Her hair of a rich brown was a little wavy; her 
eyes opened wide and a touch of white showed under 
the iris which was of a light brown mixed with yel- 
low ; yet her eyes seemed dark because the pupils were 
large and the lashes long and dark. Her features 
were slightly clumsy; but at nineteen that did not 
seem a defect in her when they were regular, and her 
lips were so red, her teeth so even and white, her com- 
plexion so smooth and rich and her coloring so deli- 
cately warm. No one attracted by brilliancy and fine 
looks could have helped casting many glances at her as 

25 


26 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

she sat apparently indifferent to the admiration of 
those whom her air seemed to proclaim beneath her. 

“ She is, certainly, very handsome,” said Dorothy 
in an undertone, turning from her gaze at the face 
opposite to look into the bright eyes always so ready 
to meet her own with interest and approval, and the 
spirited face that was yearly growing into more posi- 
tive beauty, and that had a vivacity unknown to the 
object of their comments. 

“ Oh, yes, she certainly is. Everybody would say 
so that found her so,” returned Priscy. To her the 
face beside her own was far more attractive. But it 
was the girl opposite who had said only the day before 
that everybody knew that Miss Pell thought Dorothy 
Brooke perfection and could not see a fault in her 
when the pointer was put straight on it. 

Dorothy laughed at Pell-Mell’s comment and added 
that it was not often one saw their opposite neighbor 
alone, so many were devoted to her. Then they talked 
of their studies and of other things. It was a loss to 
Dorothy, even more than to Priscy and to Grace 
Longley that the first was in a different year. They 
were together; she was alone in her studies so far as 
her friends were concerned. The hours for their 
classes were often different from hers, so that they 
were occupied at the time that she was free to see 
them, and when they were at liberty, she must go to 
classes. Then, there was studying; and Dorothy was 
finding out that she might do all the studying and 
reading she pleased and there would be more behind 
which ought to be done. But there were still hours of 


DIA CHESTERDOWN 


27 


happy intercourse which each girl enjoyed all the more 
because these had to be planned for and made much 
of when they came. That morning Dorothy and Pell- 
Mell, as Priscy was called by those who knew her best, 
;were enjoying their small outing, when Priscy’s hand 
on hers cut off the former in the midst of a sentence. 

“ Look ! ” said Pell-Mell. 

The car had stopped. A woman on the opposite 
side had risen to leave it. She was not bowed, or 
decrepit, or helpless; but she was decidedly old, and 
poorly dressed. She moved forward with the deliber- 
ation of her age, but with no delay. Suddenly, a 
peremptory voice said to her : 

“ One moment, please.” 

With the words the handsome young woman who 
had been several seats behind her laid a detaining 
hand upon her shoulder and held her motionless in 
the aisle while crowding herself past her, she stepped 
first from the car. The two who watched her saw her 
threading her way swiftly to the sidewalk, while the 
passenger who had been stopped continued hers to 
the door. 

“ That’s Dia Chesterdown to perfection ! ” ex- 
claimed Priscy. a And if we’d seen her do a hun- 
dred acts, we’d have seen nothing so much like her 
as that. She won’t be blocked by things in her way 
— or people either.” 

“ She ought to be ashamed ! ” said Dorothy. “ I 
wish ” 

Suddenly, she checked herself. 

“ I know what you wish,” laughed Priscy in her ear. 


28 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“ You wish your brother Rex who declares her so 
handsome and so fascinating, could have seen that. 
Why don’t you say it? If you are the Chesterdown’s 
rival in studies, you might admit as much as that. I 
wish it, anyway. Shall I tell him?” 

Dorothy smiled at her. “If you think best,” she 
answered demurely. 

“ I really wish I could ! ” sighed Pell-Mell. “ She 
wouldn’t have done it if milady had been gowned in 
silks.” 

“ She may have been in a great hurry,” suggested 
Dorothy still smiling. The idea of Pell-Mell’s telling 
the incident to Rex amused her very much. She was 
human enough to wish it could be so. 

“ Evidently, she was, at that precise moment ! ” re- 
torted the other girl dryly. “ But at the reception 
to-night she’ll not be in a hurry. She’ll be as sweet 
as sugar candy and have time for a word with every- 
body, especially Mr. Raynor. Dorothy,” she added 
suddenly, “ I do wish you would tell me why Mr. 
Raynor steers so clear of you now, and looks at you 
as if he didn’t like you? ” 

“Does he?” asked Dorothy indifferently. 

“ Indeed, he does; and as if a spice of hatefulness 
were mixed with his dislike. A year ago last sum- 
mer when we were motoring and he and the others 
came to see your brother, nobody was equal to you; 
he followed you until he fairly tagged you. I — Oh, 
I remember; he did go off very top-loftily that last 
morning. You must have snubbed him — cruel girl ! ” 

Her hearer laughed. 


DIA CHESTERDOWN 


29 


“ Your memory is too good, Pell-Mell. We were 
all in for fun; and he was, too; but he was making 
believe he was serious. No schoolgirl with any sense 
would have stood it.” 

“ Not you!” 

“ But Eve forgotten all about it, Pell-Mell. And 
so has he. It was nothing, anyway.” 

“ He’s not forgotten it, Dorothy. But,” she added 
reflectively, “ I don’t suppose a glare at you occasion- 
ally will do any harm? ” 

Again Dorothy laughed. 

“ No, indeed ! ” she said. “ Especially as the fierce- 
ness of the glare must be in your imagination. I’m 
happy to have him admire Miss Chesterdown exlus- 
ively.” 

Then both girls forgot the offended student in the 
delight of a little shopping. 

“ My step-mamma has exquisite taste,” declared 
Priscy. “ But it is such fun to match things all by 
one’s self.” 

The reception given that evening was a small one. 
But to at least some girls it was satisfactory. As 
Priscy had predicted, Dia Chesterdown was in her 
element. The graciousness of her smile was equalled 
only by the courtesy of her manner; no one must be 
overlooked. Priscy’s eyes meeting Dorothy’s, recalled 
the scene of the morning. 

Rex for all his open admiration, was never so de- 
voted to Dia Chesterdown, or to any other girl, that 
he had not a word for his sister. Nor was Ned Long- 


30 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

ley too fond of his sister to have a cozy chat with 
Dorothy whenever the opportunity came. And if 
Grace and Pell-Mell joined in, and Rex strolled up, 
to keep them all straight, as he declared, the merri- 
ment was the greater. 

“ You see, we don’t need a chaperon when we have 
our brothers,” announced Grace. 

“ Yes, and other people’s brothers,” added Dorothy 
demurely as Mr. Norris joined the group. 

“ Mr. Norris, we all want you to let us hear that 
recitation of yours that Mr. Brooke told me nearly 
killed the fellows with laughing,” said Susie Codman 
coming up to them. “ It’s about the deaf man. Please, 
do,” she pleaded. 

For a moment Norris looked annoyed. 

“ I’m dreadfully embarrassed. Miss Codman,” he 
answered. “ You see, it doesn’t matter what the fel- 
lows think of my performances; they may laugh 
with me, or at me. But when it comes to angel wo- 
man, it’s quite different. I’m sure you’ll think it’s 
just stuff.” And he glanced half deprecatingly at 
Priscy. 

“Don’t coquette. Just give it to us, please. We’re 
all waiting with painful eagerness,” said the girl 
promptly. 

Norris obeyed. 

Amid the laughter and applause that followed, the 
party broke up. 

Dorothy with a heavy heart had observed Rex’s 
glances at Dia as, gowned to perfection, but not over- 
dressed, she had received during the evening more or 
less attention from every young man in the room. 


DIA CHESTERDOWN 


3i 


“ Dia is the fashion. All the fellows are wild over 
her,” Susie Codman had said. Dorothy perceived the 
truth of this statement. But was it her fancy that 
there was one exception? Ned Longley had been de- 
lightfully courteous, but he had not lingered beside 
her. 

In saying good-night to Rex, his sister laid her 
other hand over his as it clasped hers, and looked into 
his face. 

“ I do miss Lulu so,” she said. “ I wish she were 
here with the rest of us. There’s something about her 
so — so interesting.” 

His merry eyes gazed straight into hers, and he 
laughed teasingly. 

“ She’s very well off where she is, I think, Doro,” 
he answered. “ Good-night. Don’t keep awake 
studying — or worrying.” And quitting her, he went 
over to Dia, to whom he bade farewell somewhat elab- 
orately, keeping an eye on Dorothy to see if she were 
watching him, and when she turned away, making his 
adieus to the belle of the evening. 

“Dear little Doro!” he said to himself as he went 
home. “ She’ll take good care of her big brother — 
if she can ! ” And again he laughed. 

That night Dorothy wrote to Lulu of the college, of 
her studies, of her longings for her; but not a word of 
Rex. 

Dia Chesterdown for all her apparent indifference, 
had many an anxious thought. She had often quoted 
to herself with comprehension of it, the reported say- 
ing of Julius Caesar that he would rather be the first 


32 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

man in a little village through which he passed, than 
the second man in Rome. Now, she was first in her 
class — her Rome — a place she intended to keep. It 
was true that in certain studies some girls there 
equalled, or even excelled her. Yet, taken all to- 
gether, the leadership had been accorded to her by ac- 
claim, an acclaim which she had known how to make 
suggested and carried. She repeated to herself that 
she intended to keep it. But for one girl, she could 
have done so with no more effort than she was ready 
to make; for, without originality, she had a retentive 
memory and great adaptability. She was a favorite 
with professors and teachers, and although no one 
would confess that this made any difference, she knew 
that it did, that more than once what she had ex- 
plained that she meant in some examination paper had 
been accepted in her favor. She felt sure of holding 
her place, but for one girl who was already beginning 
to push her and whom in consequence she disliked. 
Dorothy Brooke must be ousted. 

Dia had learned that composition was Miss Brooke’s 
strong point. In composition she must be decidedly 
and persistently beaten. That very evening after the 
reception Dia sat thinking over the matter. 

“ I can do it,” she said to herself at last. “Yes, 
I’m sure of it. I know how to make sure. There’s 
no question but that it can be done. She has an air of 
being used to carrying things her own way. She won’t 
do it here. Her brother’s a nice fellow, though — so 
entertaining.” 

And she smiled at some recollection of the even- 
ing. 


IV 


HARRY ARRIVES 

“ After all, one place is very much like another, if 
only you have your work to do, and do it, mother 
dear,” wrote Dorothy one November day, uttering a 
deeper truth than she was aware of. 

“I’ve just come in from the gymnasium,” she 
wrote, “ and I feel as if every drop of blood in my 
body were tingling with delight. I ought to keep in 
good condition for my work. You’ve no time here to 
loll around, if you want to get through the course 
with credit. And then, if you don’t take gymnastics, 
you are barred off from some of the best out-of-door 
sports. We have one of the best equipped gymnasiums 
for women in the country. When you come, I shall be 
proud to show it to you. I’m counting the days until 
you bring Harry. I suppose he feels that he brings 
you! Dear little fellow, he will enjoy himself. We’re 
all busy, but we’ll divide him up — don’t be frightened 
at such a threat! First of all, he’s Rex’s guest. But 
Grace and Pell-Mell and I will all help entertain him 
in our spare time. And Ned was saying when he and 
Rex ran in last evening, that he must have his turn. I 
dare say we shall all tell Harry different things; and 
he’ll go home inflated with the lightest kind of infor- 
mation ! 


33 


34 DOROTHY. BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“ Of all my studies I still like History and English 
best. Eve put on my best thinking-cap for my thesis 
that comes before long; I’m so desirous to do well. 
Here that counts so much — more than almost anything 
else. In our language classes we recite and write also; 
but in our other studies we take notes and write them 
out, at least, I have thus far. 

“Among hundreds of girls I see none lovelier than 
my two. How happy I am to have found Grace again 
after last year’s separation. Priscy is very dear, and 
holds her own well as to beauty; but there is nobody 
quite like my dear Grace. We three girls manage to 
have many good times together, if we do put them in- 
piecemeal. Grace’s room is next to mine. But Priscy, 
as I told you, is at the end of the hall, because the 
colonel wanted her to have two rooms as I do. But 
the distance is not great, and sometimes it seems very 
short. 

“ The dean is as dignified as ever, and as indifferent 
to us personally, it seems to me. We never think of 
going to her for sympathy in our petty perplexities 
and tribulations. But we get it from the president 
who is wonderful, for a man, in knowing how girls 
feel about things. His own daughter is one of us, a 
sophomore. She is as simple and lovable as possible, 
one of the girls I like best here. 

“ The professors all treat us in our classes as if we 
were quite as good, mentally, as the college men. It’s 
the young men graduates put in as teachers who occa- 
sionally smile superior down upon us. We generally 
manage though, to make it even in some way. 


HARRY ARRIVES 


35 

“ Miss Chesterdown and I seem to run across one 
another a good deal. Everybody leaves to her un- 
challenged the rank of class beauty. But when it 
comes to the studies, Dorothy Brooke does not wish 
to be left out in the cold — or intend to be. Dia is very 
bright, however. It will be no fun to keep even with 
her. The thesis though, is what I care most about. 
But whoever said that worry was like rust and ate 
into the grain, said a good thing. I’m not worrying 
— but I must finish up my letter this minute and go to 
studying ‘ Economics \ Dear love to everybody, as 
you know, and a longer letter next time. 

“ Always your ‘ little comrade ’ — little by courtesy ! 
— Dorothy.” 

Priscy came in as Dorothy was finishing her let- 
ter. 

“ Dia’s going to have a reception in her room this 
afternoon, thirty or more girls,” she began. “ She 
has invited me; I’m sure, I don’t see why.” 

“ I do,” retorted Dorothy. “ You’re excellent com- 
pany, Pell-Mell.” 

“ Thank you. I’d rather have you think so than all 
the rest of the girls together.” 

“ Except Grace,” smiled the other. 

“ Oh, Grace is lovely. But she’s not discriminating; 
she thinks everybody is all right.” 

Dorothy shook her head, still smiling. 

“ It’s not so bad as that,” she dissented. 

“ That’s true. She does make one exception — Dia 
Chesterdown. But even then, it’s not so much be- 


36 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

cause there is something about the girl one can’t trust, 
as that she takes the place Grace thinks belongs to you. 
And so do I.” 

“ And I want it, Pell-Mell,” said Dorothy. “ I’m 
as bad as Dia; I’m ambitious.” 

“ You ought to be; it belongs to you; you’re so able 
and work so hard. But ” 

“ So is Dia — able, since you’re good enough to call 
me so. She’s a brilliant girl.” 

“Yes, she is, Dorothy. But ” 

“ I confess my wickedness, Pell-Mell. I want to 
stand even with her in rank in my classes.” 

“ And it wouldn’t hurt your feelings if you stood 
a little beyond,” teased the girl. 

“ But Dia was here first. She held the place when 
I came. I ought to remember that.” 

Pell-Mell came up to her and laying a hand on each 
shoulder, looked into her face. 

“You’re square, Dorothy. If by right of superior 
ability, Dia beat you, you might take it hard, but 
you’d take it gracefully. It’s not so. She is not your 
superior in brains; she’s not your equal. But — again, 

I say ‘but ’ She has ways entirely beyond you, 

I’m glad to say. Grace and I have talked it all over. 
We can’t see it; we’re not deep enough. But we feel 
it. There’s nothing for you to do but exactly what 
you’re doing — study and keep your dignity. She’s of- 
ten nasty to you; she uses her influence to have the 
girls ignore you. We see it.” 

“ She has asked me to this reception,” said Dorothy. 
“ I don’t know why.” 


HARRY ARRIVES 37 

“ Nor I. Because I know she doesn’t appreciate 
you. But Are you going? ” 

Dorothy shook her head. 

“ I couldn’t if I wanted to,” she answered. “ I have 
to study.” 

“ And so must I — this minute. I didn’t come in to 
express myself about Dia Chesterdown, though I’ve 
done it more than I meant. My errand was much 
pleasanter. I want to know when the little fellow is 
to arrive — my dear little Harry? ” 

Dorothy’s face lighted with pleasure. Her little 
brother had done his best to make it pleasant to her 
guests when they were at Brookehurst. It was good 
in them to do what they could to make him enjoy his 
visit. 

“ Mother is going to bring him next Wednesday,” 
she said. “ But she can stay only one night; she is ex- 
pecting friends at home.” 

“ That’s better than nothing,” returned Pell-Mell 
consolingly. “ Even a glimpse of her will be just lovely 
to me. I think I’ll go to that reception, Dorothy,” she 
added over her shoulder as she ran off. “ I want to 
get better acquainted with Miss Chesterdown.” 

A boy of eleven carrying himself as if he would 
be glad to be as tall as his companion walked beside 
Rex Brooke through the corridors of one of the col- 
lege buildings, peeping into room after room and lis- 
tening with eager attention to the other’s explanations. 
At last the two entered a room in which the boy drew a 
quick breath of appreciation. 


38 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“ The library ! ” he exclaimed. “ Oh, how fine ! ” 
And he looked about him at the rows upon rows of 
books that everywhere met his gaze. “Do you have 
to read all these to get through college?” he asked, 
his tones betraying deep anxiety. He had fully re- 
solved to come to this college some day and was pre- 
pared for hard work. But this prospect appalled him. 

Rex laughed. 

“ Oh, no, Harry,” he said. “ Only what we can ; 
and sometimes what we like to. You see, there are 
often many sets of books on the same subject. The 
professors give us one set to read, and we leave the 
rest. Or perhaps we choose for ourselves.” 

“ Oh ! ” returned Harry Brooke much relieved. “ I 
thought — I didn’t believe you could do all this, you 
know, when you have boating and the other athletics.” 
And he looked about him reflectively. “ Longley is 
very nice, isn’t he, Rex?” he asked abruptly. “And 
does he study very, very hard ? ” 

“ Ned is the best fellow I know,” answered Rex 
heartily. “ And he does study very hard indeed.” 

“ He couldn’t come with us because he had to study 
so,” reminded Harry. 

“ He’s in his class now,” said Rex. “ But you’ll see 
him later in the day, I think. In a few minutes I’m 
going to take you to Dorothy. You are to lunch with 
her.” 

“ Shall you be there? ” asked Harry. 

“ I’m sorry to say I shall not,” laughed Rex. “ As 
the little boy said of something he wanted and couldn’t 
have, 4 They don’t allow it.’ But I’ll run in and take 
you to dinner.” 


HARRY ARRIVES 


39 

“ In the college? ” inquired Harry in a tone of de- 
light. 

“ Oh, no. But somewhere where we’ll have a good 
dinner; you’ll see, Harry.” 

“I wasn’t thinking of that,” returned the boy. “ I 
— I wanted to see all the fellows.” 

“ Perhaps if I ask them, they’ll stand out in a row 
and exhibit. Why, they’d stretch from here about 
across the yard. How should you like it? ” 

Harry’s eyes shone. Then he looked up at his big 
brother. Rex’s face was grave, but his eyes twinkled. 

“ Don’t tease me here,” pleaded the little fellow. 
“ I’m turned round enough anyway.” 

“ No, I won’t,” returned the older brother. And 
now his eyes looked at Harry affectionately. “ I don’t 
know any place, Harry, where we can see all of them 
together. But we’ll do the best we can about it.” 

In spite of Harry’s secret contempt for girls’ col- 
leges and his longing always to see what Rex and the 
other fellows were doing, he enjoyed his afternoon 
amazingly, going about with his mother and Dorothy 
and seeing the sights of Ridgemore with them. In 
seeing, his respect rose higher, and he confided to his 
sister that they did have fine fixings at her college. 
He was especially delighted with the basket-ball which 
some students were playing in the great room set apart 
for the game, and astonished to learn what girls did in 
gymnastics. The three went through halls where they 
peeped into rooms on either side and saw the students 
taking notes, as a professor, or a graduate teacher lec- 
tured to them. 

“ This house,” said Dorothy as they entered a large, 


4 o DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

handsome building on the college grounds, “belongs 
to the students. The girls can do what they please 
here and shout as much as they like.” 

“And do you and the others shout, Dorothy? ” in- 
quired Harry with great interest. 

“ I haven’t yet. But I can’t tell when I may,” said 
the girl with a merry glance at her mother. 

Still another pleasure remained for Harry that day 
— dinner with his mother and Dorothy and Rex. The 
latter took them to one of the best restaurants; and he 
and Dorothy told many things about the life in the two 
colleges which differed in some respects and yet bore a 
strong general resemblance. Harry was impressed by 
the information that the fellows and the girls recited 
the same studies to the same professors. But he could 
not understand why the men had to report absences 
and all kinds of things, as Rex said they had to do, 
and the girls did not. 

“That’s because the girls are so much better than 
we are,” explained Rex. And when Harry looked at 
him incredulously, he added emphatically : “ I’m not 
joking, Harry. It’s absolutely true.” 

Harry went to sleep in the excellent boarding-house 
near the colleges chosen by Rex for him. He felt al- 
together too much grown up to confess it; but he was 
glad that his mother was in the same house that first 
night. He would not mind her leaving for home early 
the following morning; of course, he should miss her; 
but it would seem more manly to be taking care of 
himself, especially, as Rex and Dorothy and the rest 
would often be around. 


V 


THE EVENING AT RIDGEMORE 

The little theatre at Ridgemore College was filled. 
The girls with their bright faces, their beautiful hair, 
their pretty evening gowns were charming. They sat 
row behind row and made the greater part of the audi- 
ence. But there was a good sprinkling of teach- 
ers and professors, and of guests of these and of the 
students. 

It was an unusual occasion. Girls from the college 
settlement in which Ridgemore took great interest, 
girls who had been trained by students now at col- 
lege, had been playing at other colleges and before 
other audiences and were now to show at Ridgemore 
their proficiency. The money that they made was 
for the settlement work. Dorothy who upon enter- 
ing college had joined the dramatic club and followed 
all its movements with zest, was eagerly watching for 
the curtain to rise. Upon her one hand sat Harry; 
upon the other was another guest, Rose Hewes, whom 
somewhat over a year before, Dorothy, skilfully 
backed by her mother, had been able to put into the 
way of carrying out the desire of her heart. For 
Rose was an artist who had used to such effect her 
few and brief opportunities that Mrs. Brooke had suc- 
41 


42 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

ceeded in persuading her close-fisted father that the 
money spent upon his daughter’s training would bring 
a rich return. Since that summer Rose had been in 
the city near which Ridgemore lay. She had more 
than fulfilled the expectations formed of her abilities, 
and was already beginning to be spoken of as a young 
artist of promise. It was not strange that Rose paid 
in affection the debt that she felt she owed to Mrs. 
Brooke and Dorothy. She was delighted that now in 
the latter’s college days the two could often meet. 

“ Look at Dia ! ” whispered Priscy to Susie Codman 
as the two girls were seated with Grace in the second 
row behind her. “ She’s dressed as if she were going 
to a ball. But then she can put on any amount of 
things and look well in them.” And the speaker’s 
glance passed on to the two girls sitting so near Miss 
Chesterdown. 

“ She’s very handsome and very swell,” admitted 
Susie following her companion’s gaze. “ Yet — I don’t 
know just how to put it, but Miss Brooke looks as if 
her soul were the more adorned. Isn’t white becoming 
to her?” she added. “ And your Miss Hewes is a 
mighty pretty girl in her way. I saw her when she 
was Miss Bateman’s pupil a year ago, and she was an 
awkward piece. I think her shyness made her so. 
But she is about over that ; she is beginning to feel her 
power, and it helps her.” 

Before the curtain rose Dorothy leaned across 
Harry and asked Dia, who sat next him, something 
about the college settlement from which the players 
came, and about the work there. 


THE EVENING AT RIDGEMORE 43 

“ I’m sure I don’t know,” returned Dia. “ I’ve 
never been there myself except once, and I’m not ac- 
quainted with any of the girls belonging to it — or 
with one of them so slightly that it doesn’t count, and 
her I don’t like, or want about,” she added with a 
look of annoyance. “ Miss Kinsman and some of the 
other seniors make a great fuss over the college set- 
tlement work; it doesn’t interest me at all. Those 
settlement girls don’t know how to act; it’s a mistake 
to let them exhibit here.” Then, suddenly, her face 
changed, the bored look went out of it and as she 
leaned forward and bowed to friends of hers just en- 
tering the theatre, she looked dazzling. 

Dorothy turned away. She remembered having 
met more than once a strange girl in the hall of the 
dormitory, and that one day when Dorothy was with 
Susie Codman this girl had come out of Miss Chester- 
down’s room with a package in her hand. Susie had 
said that it was Kitty Hyde, and that probably Dia 
gave her things. 

“ Why don’t they begin? ” asked Harry impatiently. 
And at that moment the curtain went up. 

The play was Shakespeare’s “ The Taming of the 
Shrew” a bold attempt for the settlement girls. But 
it was well carried out for amateurs so young as these. 
The players were all girls. The face of the one who 
took the part of Petruchio was familiar to Dorothy in 
spite of its disguise. A glance at the play-bill assured 
her that she was right— this was Kitty Hyde. She 
must have been the exception whom Dia had confessed 
to knowing slightly; and had seemingly been aiding 


44 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

with her right hand untold to her left. Dorothy de- 
cided that Kitty must be one of the brightest girls con- 
nected with the settlement work; she, certainly, was 
the star actress in this little company. As the play 
went on, her interest in Kitty grew stronger, and she 
resolved that afterward she would speak to her if pos- 
sible. 

Harry sat intent. He had seen pantomimes before; 
but not a play; and having heard a good deal about 
plays from the talk of his sister and Ned Longley, the 
stage had a personal interest for him. He tried to 
whisper a comment to Dorothy. But she stopped 
him. 

“ Wait until the act is over,” she returned softly. 
Harry waited, his comment gaining force as he 
watched. 

“ He doesn’t know how to lay about with a whip ! ” 
he said to Dorothy when his chance to speak came. 
“ He ought to hold it — so ! ” And the boy’s hand went 
out with a gesture quite different from the assumed 
Petruchio’S'. Dorothy smiled, but did not enlighten 
him. Had Harry known that it was a girl who was 
taking the part of Petruchio, the play would have been 
spoiled for him. “ I don’t see what he wants the whip 
in the house so much for, anyway,” went on the boy. 
“What does he for, Dorothy?” 

“ To make Katharina know he is master,” explained 
his sister softly. 

“ Pooh ! How old-fashioned ! But then, I suppose 
Shakespeare is old-fashioned, anyway,” he added com- 
placently. 


THE EVENING AT RIDGEMORE 45 

“Is that what you think of Shakespeare? ” asked 
Dia turning to him with a laugh. “ I think the same,” 
she added to him in a whisper. “ I like something 
more in date. But it doesn’t do to say so. Don’t tell 
I said it.” 

“ Mayn’t I tell Dorothy? ” cried Harry looking with 
flattered eagerness into the face of the handsome girl 
who had thought it worth while to confide a secret to 
a boy so much younger. 

Dia’s laugh had a touch of scorn that stung the 
child. 

“ I don’t care what you tell your sister,” she re- 
torted. “ I was only teasing you, anyway.” And she 
turned to the girl on her other hand. 

The boy’s face flushed. He, certainly, would not 
tell Dorothy, then. That girl should not hear him talk- 
ing about her, he said to himself; she was different 
from the rest. He turned and looked backward — to 
find Priscy Pell’s eyes fixed upon him kindly. She 
smiled and nodded in answer to his look, and won- 
dered to herself if Dia had been saying something nice 
to that charming little fellow? How could she help 
doing it? 

“Dorothy, what makes that tall woman so cross? 
She looks as if she could bite off everybody’s head,” 
he went on, reaching close to his sister and speaking 
too low to be overheard by his neighbor on the other 
side. “ What’s the matter with her ? I never saw any- 
body look like that.” 

“ I’m sure you never did,” answered his sister, smil- 
ing at him. “ That’s not the way we do at home.” 


4 6 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“I should say!” retorted the boy. “ But what’s 
the matter with her? ” 

“ Why, that’s the matter with her. She’s a shrew, 
a very cross woman whom nobody wants. But her 
father will not allow her younger sister to be married 
before she is. So, when Petruchio comes they all want 
him to win Katharina.” 

“ And does he whip her? ” 

“ Oh, no ! He only cracks his whip to show what 
he can do if he is not obeyed.” 

“ Oh, I begin to understand,” said Harry who in 
his reading had not arrived at Shakespeare. “And 
does he marry her? ” 

“ Here comes the second act. You’ll have to wait 
and see.” 

And Harry subsided into silence. 

Dorothy did get her word to Kitty after the play; 
and the girl flushed with pleasure as she thanked her 
and promised to accept the invitation to look in upon 
her some day. 

It happened that that very week when Rose Hewes 
was with Dorothy and had been talking of the young 
girl at the settlement and what a striking personality 
she had, that Kitty herself came to make her first 
visit. As she and Dorothy sat talking, Rose as she re- 
luctantly took leave, said to the latter : 

“ I’m going to ask her now, Dorothy.” Then she 
turned to Kitty. “ Won’t you let me paint your por- 
trait, Miss Hyde?” she asked. “You have just the 
face I want for my prize picture — I mean the picture 
I’m going to paint to try for the prize. Will you? ” 


THE EVENING AT RIDGEMORE 4; 

she added pleadingly. “ I won’t take too much of your 
time. I don’t give my models all their trouble for 
nothing,” she went on. “ The pay is so small you 
would not consider it; but it is something.” 

“ Nothing is too small for me to consider,” re- 
turned Kitty. “ I’m a poor girl earning my living; I 
have to count my earnings by cents, not dollars. But 

” she hesitated. “ I should like to oblige you of 

all things, Miss Hewes ; and I should be very proud to 
be painted by an artist. Only — why don’t you ask 
Miss Chesterdown to sit for you? She would be de- 
lighted, I’m sure. She is a beauty, you know. And 
people are acquainted with her, and if you do her 
well you’ll get ever so much praise. But nobody 
knows me and I shouldn’t count, however well you 
painted me and flattered me to make a good picture. 
Why don’t you ask her?” she repeated. 

A scorn flashed over Rose’s face. 

“ Because I’m an artist in my eyes, if not in my 
brush,” she retorted ; “ and I can see the best. Miss 
Chesterdown has one good expression, it’s true. But 
you have a hundred. Nobody with eyes would want 
to paint her instead of you. Now, won’t you think it 
over. Miss Hyde, and try to say ‘yes ’ to me? I shall 
have to begin upon my subject before long. I hope 
you’ll say ‘ yes ’ to me.” 

“ Thank you ever so much,” returned Kitty. “ I’ll 
see what I can do about it. I want to say ‘yes ’.” 

“ She’s a hundred times more striking and interest- 
ing than Dia Chesterdown, She’d make a better pic- 
ture,” Rose commented later to Dorothy. “ Though 


48 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

it’s odd that there is something in her that puts me in 
mind of Dia; it’s never the other way. Try to get her 
for me, Dorothy.” 

“ Indeed, I will try, Rose,” answered Dorothy. 

Harry for all his distractions did not forget his 
epistle to the sister waiting for it at home. 

“ Dear Olive,” he wrote, 

“ I haven’t forgotten you for all the things there 
are to see and do here at the college. Oh, it’s a fine 
place; I wish you could see it. I’m afraid if I hadn’t 
promised you a letter, I should not find time to write 
you just now; I’m so busy going around and finding 
out everything. But when a fellow says he will do a 
thing, he can’t flunk, you know. 

“ There wasn’t a place for- me in Rex’s house. It’s 
in the yard, you see; and so is Ned’s. But I’m board- 
ing all by myself near by. Dorothy and Grace and 
Priscy are so good to me; but, of course, Rex’s col- 
lege is the important one. But the girls recite the les- 
sons to the same professors; they’d feel offended if 
they didn’t do it, you know. 

“ They had one of Shakespeare’s plays at Ridge- 
more; ‘The Taming of the Shrew / it was called. A 
fellow went slashing about with a whip and frightened 
a cross-looking girl so she had to do whatever he 
wanted her to — yes, and say it, too. I dare say you’ve 
read the play and know all about it. I shall, when I 
get home. Plays are the things in both colleges, I find ; 
everybody’s writing them. I don’t see why Dorothy 


THE EVENING AT RIDGEMORE 49 

laughed at me so when I said that she and Ned could 
get up something as good as that. She made me 
promise not to say it here ; so, I don’t. 

“ They have such libraries here, Olive ! And I’ve 
been into three of the lecture rooms and some of the 
laboratories where they do experiments in chemistry 
and biology, and have seen the observatory where they 
study the stars. I guess there isn’t much I haven’t 
seen. 

“ To-morrow morning Ned has invited me to go 
sight-seeing with him. He has asked Dorothy and 
Grace and Priscy, too. Rex can’t go; he has an ‘ex- 
am’ — that’s what they call examinations here; I’m 
going to do it, too. I’ve just come in from a walk 
with Norcross and some of the other fellows. He 
said Rex told him he might take me if he’d be good 
— imagine it! He was good; and so were all the rest. 
Coming home we went into a restaurant and had a 
dandy lunch, oysters and what not. I didn’t want any 
dinner when I got home. We had fun with the fel- 
lows, we all talked and laughed so. 

“ I can’t write any more to-night. I shall have no 
end to tell you when I come home. Love to mamma 
and papa and everybody, and don’t leave out Nemo, 
dear old fellow. Won’t his tail wag when he sees me ! 
I hope it won’t storm to-morrow, not that I mind the 
weather, of course. But it will be nicer for the girls.” 


VI 


HARRY PLAYS HOST 

The morning was as beautiful as Harry could have 
desired, and the party set off in high spirits. Ned 
Longley was busily talking with Dorothy when the 
street car conductor came for his fare. Longley 
searched one pocket after another in ever greater 
haste and desperation. He certainly had had his 
pocket-book, for he had paid the fares in the former 
car. He certainly did not have it now. 

“ That man who left the car at the last stop hunched 
up very close to you just before he got up to go out,” 
said Priscy. “ I wondered what he was about. But 
I never thought he was helping himself to your 
pocket-book.” 

“ That must have been what he was doing, though,” 
said Ned. And turning to Grace, he asked her to pay 
the fares. But her pocket-book, safe at home, was as 
unable to meet present demands as Ned’s. 

Dorothy’s face flushed. “ I’m so sorry I forgot in 
my hurry and left my purse in the pocket of my other 
coat,” she said. “Can you help us, Pell-Mell?” 

“To the tune of thirty cents,” laughed the girl, and 
was about to pay for the party, when a hand was laid 
over hers to hold her money there, and a voice said : 

“ The gentlemen pay.” And Harry leaning across 
50 



“THE GENTLEMEN PAY.” 



























































































’ 




































































































; 

« 















































































































HARRY PLAYS HOST 51 

Priscy, thrust his purse into Ned’s hand. “We’re 
all right,” he said to him. “ Take this.” 

Ned took it, gave the conductor the fares, and 
passed the pocket-book again to Harry, thanking him. 

“No, no,” said the boy. “Keep it; it’s all right. 
I want you to. Why, you’ll have to, don’t you see? 
•Take all you want. I brought my money with me. I 
thought it was safer than in a boarding-house.” 

Dorothy watching her brother, was proud of the 
little fellow. He was doing everything as he should. 

“ I don’t know about it’s being safer, Harry,” 
laughed Ned. “ That seems to depend upon whether 
it’s you or I who bring it. But, at any rate, you’d bet- 
ter keep it in your own hands, and pay for us, if you 
will be so good, and then I’ll see you about it to-night. 
Are you sure you have enough with you to put us 
through in good style?” he added in an undertone. 
And when Harry told him how much he had, Ned 
nodded in satisfaction. “ Yes, indeed, you’re all right. 
And keep a better lookout than I did. You’re our sole 
dependence, Harry. There’s no knowing what would 
happen if your pocket were picked.” 

The boy laughed out with pleasure. Never before 
in his life had he been so important. He was to pay 
for everything and everybody, like a grown-up fellow. 
He did not know until afterward what Ned was mark- 
ing down on a bit of paper so often, that he was keep- 
ing tally of every cent that came out of that purse 
which the boy was handling with such pride. Ned and 
Dorothy exchanged an amused glance which they were 
careful Harry did not see as he indicated loftily the 


52 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

persons whose fares he was paying, and counted 
scrupulously the change he received. 

It was one of Harry’s red-letter days, not only be- 
cause he saw many places of interest, but also because, 
as he told Dorothy afterward, nobody could have done 
anything, they would all have been obliged to come 
trooping home, but for him. 

The party did quite an amount of sight-seeing of 
places historic, and interesting for any reason. Harry 
was not deeply impressed by the magnificent city 
library; he declared that he had seen so many books 
at college, he preferred seeing other things. 

“ This is something like ! ” he cried mounting with 
speed and excellent breath the hundreds of steps to the 
top of one of the famous historic monuments. And 
his glimpse of the navy-yard later fairly exhilarated 
him. 

“Let’s go and get something to eat,” proposed Ned. 
And a happy, hungry party filed into the restaurant of 
one of the best hotels in the city. Ned begged the girls 
to give the orders, and supplemented their modest de- 
mands by suggestions of his own. 

“Well! You were hungry, Harry,” said Dorothy 
watching him between amusement and a wish that he 
really did not want quite so much. 

“ You people don’t eat anything,” complained the 
boy looking across at Grace who sat opposite him. 
“ I suppose that’s the way girls do. Do take some- 
thing more, to keep me company.” 

“ We’ll wait for you,” said Dorothy, “ if you don’t 
eat too much.” 


HARRY PLAYS HOST 


53 

“Too bad! ” cried Ned. “Don’t mind her, Harry. 
She’s a tease. You ought to be hungry. You’ve had 
charge of us all.” 

Harry smiled and accepted another helping of beef- 
steak, while Pell-Mell glancing at two girls a few tables 
away, said: 

“ There’s Miss Chesterdown. And Kitty Hyde, the 
girl who acted Petruchio the other evening, is with 
her.” 

“Yes, it is Kitty,” said Dorothy interested; and she 
sat watching the two a few moments. “ Kitty seems 
quite at home with a girl who declared that she knew 
her very slightly and didn’t like her,” she commented. 

“ Dia is more particular to say what she wants you 
to believe than what she believes herself,” remarked 
Priscy. 

“ Pm afraid you’re right, Pell-Mell.” 

Ned looked at the speaker in astonishment. “ That 
from you, Graciosa? It must be pretty bad, then.” 

“ Kitty Hyde is not shy,” said Dorothy. “ But she 
always speaks of Miss Chesterdown as if she knew her 
well; and she can’t do it all herself.” 

“Dia is looking over here as if she wished us all 
further. I can bow as distantly as she,” said Priscy, 
as she did it, and then turned to Dorothy with a smile. 
“ She does know Kitty well, but she doesn’t want 
anybody to believe it.” 

“ I don’t see why,” said Dorothy. “ Kitty has been 
to my room three times, and I like her better the more 

In a momentary silence that fell at the table they all 
I see of her.” 


54 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

heard Dia say impatiently : “ Why do you scream so, 
Kitty? Can’t you learn to speak like a lady? ” 

“Down in my throat?” laughed the girl. “One’s 
enough for that.” 

“ Haven’t you finished yet? ” asked Dia leaning 
back and frowning as she watched the other. 

“You see I haven’t,” returned Kitty. “Do you 
think I get ice cream so often as to leave any of it on 
my plate? I guess not! Those people aren’t listen- 
ing to you,” she went on. “ They don’t care what you 
say. And, anyway, they’re not the kind. I’ll ask 

Mr. ” Here came a crash made by Dia’s knife 

falling upon her plate. Dorothy, startled, wondered 
if she had broken the plate. But no one heard the 
name that Kitty had uttered. “ He’ll help you out, I 
know,” went on the girl. “ But I hate to do it, any- 
way. However, it’s your business, not mine.” 

“To be sure it is,” returned Dia looking very 
haughty. “ I wish you’d remember that whatever I 
do is my business, and not yours.” 

“ What do you ask me for, then? ” 

“ I pay you for it,” returned Miss Chesterdown 
with more distinctness than she realized in her indigna- 
tion. 

Kitty glanced over to the opposite table and smiled. 
She had reached a decision which she saw the oppor- 
tunity to announce, and it pleased her. And if they 
had heard Dia, she would rather be known to work for 
her for pay than to have them suppose that she car- 
ried out some of her tricks, as Kitty put it to herself, 
because she liked them. 


HARRY PLAYS HOST 


55 

At last she had finished her cream. Dia instantly 
rose, and in passing the table she again bowed some- 
what condescendingly to her college mates, her eyes 
resting with a scornful amusement upon Harry, and 
turning to Ned with a touch of wonderment that his 
clear eyes looking for an instant into hers held no ad- 
miration for her. 

4t Good-by, if you're in such a hurry,” called Kitty 
following her with deliberation. “ I’ll be sure to see 
him and tell you just what he says. I’ll make it 
straight. I’m sure he’ll do it for you.” 

Dia wheeled about, flushed, and cast an indignant 
look at her for calling out her business in a restaurant; 
at which the hearers did not wonder. But Kitty took 
the matter coolly. She came across to the table and 
spoke to Dorothy. 

“ Say, Miss Brooke,” she cried, “ tell her I’ve 
thought it over, and I’ll do it. Won't you? ” 

“Indeed, I will, Miss Hyde,” answered Dorothy 
much pleased that Rose was to have her wish. 

“What's that about?” inquired Dia turning again 
and looking back frowningly. 

“ Oh, can’t I have a secret with Miss Brooke as well 
as with you?” retorted Kitty. And nodding to the 
others, all of whom, except Longley, she had met be- 
fore, she followed Miss Chesterdown out of the 
restaurant. 

“They appear to have business, if not friendship to- 
gether,” remarked Ned smiling at his companions. 

Dorothy had perceived that his glance at Dia had 
expressed no admiration for her, and she could not 


56 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

help being glad of it. Nor could she help wishing that 
Rex also had been present. Perhaps he would have 
begun to be cured of that attraction, toward the girl 
which still rankled in Dorothy’s heart. Her splendid 
Rex, and Dia Chesterdown — never! Of course, he 
did not really care. But again Dorothy wished that 
Lulu Bromley had come to college. He certainly did 
like her, and she was a girl anybody might be proud 
of and love. 

“No more, thank you,” said Harry in answer to 
Ned’s question. “ Where are we going now? ” 

“ To the matinee, if you all like,” said Longley. 

“And shall I buy the tickets for that?” inquired 
Harry seeming to grow a little taller as he spoke. 

“ You will pay these if you kindly will,” said Ned 
gathering up the checks ; “ and our fares to the theatre. 
But the tickets are all bought. We could not get seats 
together, or perhaps any seats at all, if we had vraited 
until now,” he explained in response to a disap- 
pointed droop of Harry’s eyes. 

But once arrived and seated with the programme in 
his hand, Harry’s eyes were far from drooping. The 
play was not even Shakespearian, and the boy was se- 
cretly glad. It was a very simple, pretty play, and they 
all enjoyed it as much as he did. 

“I’ve had the jolliest time!” he said to Dorothy 
that evening. “ It’s been fun from first to last. And 
then I’ve learned so much, I’m sure. How could I 
help it, coming to college — a man’s college? You 
won’t be offended, will you ? But one thing, Dorothy. 
I did just hope a little Ned would forget to settle up 


HARRY PLAYS HOST 


57 


this evening. Then, you see, I couldn’t have gone 
home to-morrow. I shouldn’t have had money 
enough.” 

“ That’s not Ned’s way,” returned the hearer. 
“And, if he had forgotten, I could have loaned you 
some, Harry.” 

“I never thought of that!” said the little fellow. 
" Oh, Dorothy, I shall have enough to tell Olive for a 
year ! ” 


VII 


Dorothy's new interest 

It was evening, and in one of the worst parts of the 
city, near the college settlement house in which many 
of the students of Ridgemore were interested. Ned 
Longley walking beside Dorothy and Mrs. Cutter, the 
chaperon of their party, and Rex Brooke just behind 
him with Grace Longley and Priscy Pell, both changed 
from the outside to the inside of the sidewalk as they 
approached a group of rough-looking boys lounging 
against the wall of a neighboring building. The street 
lights shone flickeringly upon the watching boys as the 
others passed by them. 

“ Them’s goin’ down to our place, you bet ! ” said 
one of the boys. “ All the swells wot comes down this 
way is headed for there. Come on, fellers. Time we 
woz there, too. Say, mister,” he went on addressing 
Ned, “ there ain’t no need ter be feared of us; we’se 
goin’ up ter the house, too. That’s our house more’n 
’tis yourn,” he went on. 

“ Yes, indeed it is! ” cried Dorothy turning a smil- 
ing face upon them. “ And are you all going there, 
too? How good ! It’s a fine place, isn’t it? ” 

“You bet!” retorted another of the boys. “An* 
d’yer know about wot fun we has and wot games we 
58 


DOROTHY’S NEW INTEREST 59 

play? An how they has a room in there where they 
fixes up the fellers wots bin a-fightin’? An’ then they 
has parties an’ thayatres, an’ freshmints an’ things.” 

“We’re going to know all about it,” said Priscy. 
“ We’re going there now.” 

“ An’ then we big boys has a room all to ourselves, 
like as if we wuz men — so we are, most. An’ we has 
a cullidge feller to teach us the games an’ help us have 
a bully time. Say, misters, ain’t yer cornin’ ter see our 
room?” And the gaze of the first speaker passed 
from Ned to Rex. 

“ We’ll be mighty glad to see your room,” returned 
the latter. 

“Ask him where it is,” said Grace. “We all want 
to see it.” 

“ Down on the fust floor — conspikus an’ nimport- 
ant,” answered the youngest of the group, a boy of 
about twelve, the age at which the boys were — as they 
considered it— promoted to a room by themselves with 
a college graduate and perhaps one or two college stu- 
dents as assistants to supervise them, really to keep 
them in order ; although, happily, the boys did not look 
upon it in this light. 

The two groups joined, and in a desultory conversa- 
tion fast becoming general, they went on the short 
remaining distance to the settlement house. Here they 
separated, the boys going to their own room and the 
others being ushered into a large apartment filled with 
women and girls among whom moved the head worker 
in the settlement, Miss Richards, the graduate of a 
famous college, some of her assistants, and other 


6o DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


ladies whom a noble enthusiasm had drawn into this 
work. 

Miss Richards came up to the party at once. She 
knew Mrs. Cutter well and welcomed her compan- 
ions. 

“ Yes, Miss Brooke,” she said smiling in answer to 
Dorothy’s question, “this is a small beginning of the 
commingling of nations in amity. We have here 
Syrians in the largest numbers, and a very interesting 
people they are. Next as to numbers come the Irish, 
many of the younger ones American born. These 
we all consider that we know; but not all of us know 
them fresh from the mother country. Most of them 
come here in profound ignorance of what we call 
civilization. But, newly arrived, or native-born, they 
all are quick to assimilate the ideas of acquisition and 
domination, their ruling passions. We patch up in 
this house many a head broken in a street fight, in 
most cases brought on by drunkenness. But clubs 
and fists are not so bad as the stiletto.” And the 
speaker glanced significantly at the Italians fringing 
the groups of Syrians and Irish. “But we do what 
we can. If they all come here and laugh together to- 
night, it is harder to quarrel to-morrow morning.” 

“But do they know one another’s language? Or 
do they all speak English?” asked Ned. 

“ Neither,” said Miss Richards. “ But we always 
find some who can interpret. I don’t believe they do 
it accurately; but in some way we get on. And then, 
Mr. Longley, you never know until you come to 
some such experience how much all human beings 


DOROTHY’S NEW INTEREST 


6 1 


have in common, how many signs, gestures, expres- 
sions, and even sounds are universal. To-night we 
have what we call 4 a neighborhood party ’ ; the 
women are meeting to get better acquainted with 
each other. They are doing it, even to the Syrians 
who can’t speak a word of Irish and the Irish to 
whom the tongue of the Syrians is, as we say, 4 Greek.’ 
The older Irish women,” she added, “ are, as you see, 
fond of bundling up their heads in wraps of some 
kind, ‘ clouds ’ and 4 fascinators ’ and old things we’ve 
forgotten the very names of.” 

44 And do the two races get on well together?” 
asked Dorothy. 

But before Miss Richards could answer, she was 
called away. 

The visitors looked about them for a few minutes, 
making softly spoken comments upon the picturesque 
dress of many of the women in spite of defects of 
finish and neatness. And then Dorothy perceived 
Kitty Hyde making her way toward them. She 
would be able to tell them many things, perhaps some 
that the workers themselves did not know. Her home 
was in this district, not far from the settlement house. 
Since her mother’s death she had lived with a Syrian 
family where, as the children went to school and spoke 
English, she had got on well. Kitty’s face had lighted 
as she had seen who the visitors were, and she greeted 
them without shyness but with so evident a purpose 
not to put herself in the foreground that Dorothy 
liked her all the better and talked to her the 


more. 


62 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


“ Hebrews here? ” echoed Kitty. “ Oh, only a few. 
My mother was born in this country,” she added. 
“ And my father was an American, a Western man. 
I don’t feel much of a foreigner.” 

“ I should think not,” said Dorothy. She looked 
at the girl standing there, her face bright with pleas- 
ure and keen not only with the cleverness that the 
vicissitudes of her life had developed, but with intel- 
lectual power, and possessing a charm of feature and 
expression which made her fascinating rather than 
regularly handsome. As she looked, Dorothy could 
well believe what she had heard — that Kitty’s mother 
had been a very beautiful Jewess. 

“How do the different races get on together?” 
Ned asked her, his eyes roaming over the crowd of 
women and girls, different nationalities and races side 
by side. 

She turned and watched them for a moment, the 
dark eyes and gleaming teeth of many of them made 
more effective by touches of vivid color in their attire. 
Many were talking, some interpreting, not too cor- 
rectly, as Miss Richards had suggested, but well 
enough to be understood. And those who could not 
talk for want of knowing the tongue of their neigh- 
bors were laughing. 

Kitty’s glance turned back to Ned; and she smiled. 

“ There’s one thing funny,” she said. “ Well, there 
are a good many things; but here’s one: The for- 
eigners that have been over here a little while are 
ready to despise the ones that have just come over. 
See that little Syrian girl?” And she pointed out 


DOROTHY’S NEW INTEREST 63 

a handsome child of ten. “ She was playing in the 
swing they have out in the yard here, and, if you’ll 
believe it, she wouldn’t have a thing to do with a lit- 
tle Italian girl about the same age as she was, because 
the Italian had come over only a few months before. 
The Italian was a foreigner, the Syrian girl said; she 
didn’t like foreigners. She’d been here only three or 
four years herself. But she had been to school; so 
she belonged in America.” 

“I see. Neighborhood parties must fill a much- 
needed want, as the advertisers say,” laughed Rex. 

“Look at this work!” called Ned to them a few 
minutes later. He had been examining a cabinet 
filled with specimens of mosaic work and wood-carv- 
ing, pottery, fine silver work, specimens of printing, 
even one or two models of inventions, and a quantity 
of beautiful lace and exquisite embroidery — an at- 
tractive collection. As the whole party stood looking 
into the cabinet with interest, Kitty said : 

“ That is collected by the Italian-American circle. 
You see, lots of those people come over here who 
haven’t any money and can’t speak a word of English. 
Nobody knows what beautiful things they can do; 
and they don’t know where to get orders for such 
work. So they take anything, even to digging ditches. 
But people think that a waste of time when they’re 
fitted for so much better things. So this circle is 
trying to find out these people, and sell their work and 
get them into places where they can earn their living 
doing what they can do so well.” 

Learning that the things in the cabinet were for 


64 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

sale, the young men made purchases, and gave these 
to the ladies of their party, not leaving out Kitty. 

But in the midst of a sentence Dorothy ceased 
speaking. For a silence had fallen over the room, the 
silence of intense interest. The heads of the Syrian 
women were uplifted; the caps and various woolen 
head-dresses of the elder women among the Irish 
ceased to bob in response to amused laughter. The 
children stood quiet, or moved their feet softly as 
they, too, fixed their eyes upon the end of the room. 
Here was to be given something unusual for a neigh- 
borhood party evening, nothing less than a few scenes 
from a musical pantomime that some of the children 
were rehearsing to give at Christmas. The panto- 
mime had been arranged by a member of one of the 
musical societies of the city; and the ladies of the 
social settlement desired not only the practice for the 
children, but that the parents should see what these 
were doing. 

“Look at those children!” said Ned softly to 
Dorothy. “ They’re born with such love for every- 
thing dramatic, they seem to know what to do with- 
out being taught, or being drilled as American chil- 
dren would have to be drilled.” He had no opportu- 
nity to add then what he perceived and said to her 
later, that this element introduced into American life 
stimulated the dramatic taste of our own people, as 
a large body gravitates in proportion to its size to meet 
a small one thrown against it. 

The pantomime began with good music 'played by 
some of the college workers. With the first chords, 


DOROTHY’S NEW INTEREST 65 

the silence in the crowd grew deeper. The children 
acted with spirit. But it was at the audience that 
the visitors looked with the greatest interest, so rapt 
in delight, or so transported by amusement were they 
that the onlookers could not fail to see in them capa- 
bilities which had never had opportunity to develop. 

“ Charming! Charming!” cried Mrs. Cutter, while 
in silence Dorothy turned from the young actors on 
the stage to the women and children watching them. 
Kitty Hyde’s eyes were upon her face, reading there 
a comprehension and a sympathy which she had never 
before found in a mere visitor, and not always even 
in the workers. 

Refreshments followed; and simple as these were, 
they added to the sociability of the evening, as re- 
freshments always do. On the strength of this socia- 
bility Dorothy ventured a few words of Italian to 
some of the women, and immediately found herself 
surrounded by an eager group talking, gesticulating 
with a volubility and speed that left her helpless. 

“ Found your match, Doro?” laughed Rex as he 
listened. 

But at the moment her eyes caught Priscy in the 
midst of the Syrian women gesticulating in reply to 
their rapid gestures, nodding at their occasional words 
as if she understood them, and actually catching a 
word now and then from some interpreter among the 
Irish element to whom her fun appealed. Dorothy 
did not like to be beaten, even by Pell-Mell, and she 
at once began to gesture freely. As her audience tried 
to understand her, they gave her opportunity for 


66 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

speech again ; and although she knew little Italian, she 
made her words and sentences go far, and keeping the 
lead, allowed no chance for questions she could not 
answer. 

“You’ll do, Doro,” laughed her brother as he 
watched her. 

“ Pell-Mell gave me the hint,” she answered smil- 
ing. 

“ You caught on well,” he commented. And he 
laughed again as his eyes followed his sister’s. 

After the promised visit to the boys’ room, the 
party turned homeward. Kitty accompanied them 
the short distance to her lodging. 

“ I wish you came every night — or very often,” 
she said as they bade her good-by. 

“The settlement house must be a comfort to you,” 
said Dorothy. 

“ ‘ Comfort ’ ! 99 echoed the girl with a choke in her 
voice. Then she held in her emotion. “ I should 
not stay here at all but for that,” she answered. “ I 
should find a place somewhere out of this.” 

Dorothy noticed that she did not say “a home.” 
She knew that Kitty’s mother was dead and the girl 
was alone in the world. 

“ Good night,” said the latter brightly. “ I’ve had 
a lovely time — thanks to you all.” 

“ Come and see me, Kitty,” said Dorothy as the 
girl went into the house. 

The other turned her head and looked at her and 
nodded. Her eyes were dim; but in the darkness no 
one saw that. 


DOROTHY’S NEW INTEREST 67 

That night Dorothy wrote home an account of 
her evening, and somewhat of the work done at the 
settlement, of the different classes and the many things 
taught in the district where were eight thousand for- 
eigners, about fifteen hundred of whom were children 
for whose schooling the city did not provide liberally. 
At the settlement house, she wrote, there were classes 
in basketry, laundry, lace-making, cooking, sloyd, 
music, and a Shakespeare club; classes for boys and 
for girls, a Syrian woman’s club, a Syrian dramatic 
club, the boys of which had promised a play in Arabic, 
but had not yet given it. 

A week later Dorothy came into Grace’s room one 
evening. “Mayn’t I bring in Pell-Mell, too?” she 
asked. 

“ What a question ! ” laughed Grace. “ Sit down 
and I’ll go and get her.” 

“ No, you won’t, dearie. Here she is behind me.” 
And Priscy’s bright face peered over the speaker’s 
shoulder. “Now, I’ve been thinking, girls,” went 
on Dorothy. “ Why can’t we get up an entertain- 
ment at the settlement house? You know, some girls 
go over from here every week and give an entertain- 
ment.” 

“ And you want a pantomime, and to book us head 
and front in it? ” queried Priscy. 

“ That same, Pell-Mell.” 

“What is the pantomime?” asked Grace. “I’ve 
no doubt you have the whole thing down on paper, 
even to the quotation marks.” 


68 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


“It’s ‘The Little Old Woman Who Lived in a 
Shoe/ with numberless additions and modifications/’ 
returned Dorothy. “Do you think they’ll like it?” 

“Yes, with additions and modifications a la Doro- 
thy Brooke,” retorted Priscy. “ When are you going 
to have it? ” 

“ Thank you, Pell-Mell. That question means 
your consent.” 

“ Why, of course, I shall have to help you out to the 
extent of my small ability.” 

“Your ‘ small ability’ will be satisfactory,” laughed 
the other. 

“ I don’t know how to act,” said Grace. “ But I’ll 
be curtain raiser.” 

“ I’ve heard you say that before, Grace Longley. 
And I’ve seen you act. So, please don’t waste time 
by repeating that you can’t.” 

Dorothy’s play, chiefly pantomime, with suggestions 
from Ned, was set for the middle of January. She 
was ably assisted by Susie Codman, Kitty Hyde and 
others. 

The crowding of the children into small space ap- 
pealed to the comprehension of every spectator among 
the dwellers in the settlement district. The shifts 
to which the old woman was put to house them all, 
her cleverness in stowing them, the cleverness of the 
children in finding for themselves places outside the 
hard-pressed shoe, their amusing encounters with 
other children, and with grown-up people who took 
an interest in helping them, the opportunities for 
droll pantomime effectively used, by none more sue- 


DOROTHY’S NEW INTEREST 69 

cess fully than by Priscy, the gay music, the bits of 
brilliant color in the dresses of the actors, the enthu- 
siasm of these actors and the appreciation of the audi- 
ence, all combined to make Dorothy’s evening the 
most popular of the winter’s entertainments. 

Yet late that night, sitting by the window of her own 
room at the college, it was with eyes full of visions of 
the future rather than of the triumph which the even- 
ing had given her, that Dorothy gazed out at the 
stars. With ears full of words of praise, she had 
looked around that evening upon the many faces up- 
turned to hers, the faces of those for whom the work- 
ers in the settlement were doing so much, and to whom 
she had been able to give merely an hour’s entertain- 
ment ! 

“ That’s not enough,” she said to herself. “ What 
real rights have I over theirs ? I must go to the house 
when I can make the time, and learn more of what 
those noble workers are doing for them.” 

This purpose she carried out, until the aims and 
somewhat of the accomplishments of college settle- 
ment work were plain to her. 


VIII 


“ COME TO MY WEDDING ” 

“ Miss Morris's wedding ! How good in her and 
Mrs. Pell to invite me when they both know me so 
little,” said Grace. 

“But 1 know 1 you more than a little,” retorted 
Priscy. “And Elinor wrote me that we must all 
three be sure to come; she wanted to see us. Won’t 
we have a jolly time!” After a moment she added, 
“ I wonder if the broken-hearted will be there? ” 

“ ‘ The broken-hearted ’.? ” echoed Dorothy won- 
deringly. 

“ Oh, yes, you know* — the Mr. Bridges who accord- 
ing to his mother was to marry Miss Morris himself, 
and all the time he knew she was engaged to Mr. 
Knight, and enjoyed the fun.” The girls laughed at 
the reminiscence; and Priscy stole a glance at Doro- 
thy. Would Mr. Bridges have taken it so happily had 
it been Dorothy’s engagement? But she might be 
only imagining that he was especially interested in 
Dorothy. She was only a college girl, and he was 
much older. 

“ ’Twill be a wedding worth seeing if Mrs. Pell 
has the management of it,” declared Dorothy. “ And 
isn’t it going to be a large one, Pell-Mell? ’ ” 

“Yes, I suppose so. Elinor and Mr. Knight want 
70 


“COME TO MY WEDDING 


7i 

it to be small and simple. They’re not rich people, 
they say, and they don’t want a show. But they’re 
in the hands of the Philistines — that means Mamma 
Pell,” laughed Priscy, “ and they can’t help them- 
selves; they have to take what she gives them. But 
it will be pretty good,” she added smiling. 

“ You needn’t tell us that,” retorted Dorothy. “ We 
know it. What are we going to wear, girls?” 

“My gown is being made at home. I don’t know 
anything about it, and shan’t until I get there,” said 
Priscy. “ Only, it’s sure to be something pretty.” 

“ Very sure,” answered Dorothy. “ Colonel and 
Mrs. Pell are giving the wedding, and you are the 
daughter of the house; you are the important one. 
It really doesn’t matter about Grace and me, if only 
we don’t disgrace you — Grace, that’s not meant as a 
pun on your name.” 

“Certainly. I understand. You don’t care how 
you look; you’d prefer to be dowdies.” 

“Pell-Mell, don’t be saucy. You know we’re both 
as vain as peacocks.” 

“But what are you going to wear?” persisted 
Priscy, turning to Grace. 

“ My pale blue silk-and-chiffon gown. It’s my 
best,” said the girl, “ and I’ve never worn it.” 

“ It’s lovely, Grace. It looks just like you. And 
you, Dorothy?” 

“ My white embroidered muslin with my coral or- 
naments. I had it made to come here. Would you 
like that, Pell-Mell? I’ve never worn it yet, either.” 

“Indeed, I should. The gown is beautiful; and 


72 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

white is your color, Dorothy. On the whole, you’ll 
not be very bad dowdies, girls.” 

“ It’s so kind in your mamma to ask us the day be- 
fore. We’ll not have to hurry for trains, and dress 
in a scramble,” said Grace. “ And I’m glad it’s to be 
a day wedding. I like those/’ 

“ Mamma doesn’t. She fought hard for the even- 
ing. But Elinor insisted that she would be married 
by sunlight if she should not be fortunate enough to 
get sunshine. I hope she will. You’d think mamma 
could get her way always; she’s so set upon it; and 
really she always does,” Priscy went on. “ But Eli- 
nor wouldn’t budge an inch from her way, and as she 
was the one to be married, mamma had to yield.” 

Dorothy silently recalled a day when Mrs. Pell had 
not had her will, but had been compelled to give in to 
Dorothy’s forgiveness of Mrs. Bridges and Flora who 
had treated her so badly all summer. But Mr. Bridges 
had been very good to her; she had done this partly 
because she hated to have his feelings hurt. Perhaps 
he would be at the wedding; he was a friend of Mr. 
Knight. 

The news of the invitation to the “ swell ” wedding 
which Susie Codman circulated made no ripple of in- 
terest among the girls. Only, Dia Chesterdown per- 
ceived that this, and the thoughts of it beforehand and 
the memories of it afterward, would be so much taken 
from Miss Brooke’s work, and was glad of it. She 
did not yet fear Dorothy who would never catch up 
with herself, Dia was sure except in anxious moments. 
Still, it was pleasanter to have a little more distance 
between them. 


“ COME TO MY WEDDING” 


73 

But Dia was far from understanding the girl she 
was judging. Dorothy’s hour of rising was not so 
early in winter as in summer, to be sure. But on the 
day of her going to Miss Morris’s wedding she was up 
a full hour before her usual time, and that hour she 
spent on her thesis. This at present had the best of her 
day, while her stories, and even the work with Ned, 
were pushed aside until this thesis should be handed 
in; until then she would work upon it, revising, re- 
writing, correcting. And then ? What would happen 
then? 

They were face to face once more. 

“ Miss Brooke, you’ve not forgotten me? It seems 
so long since I’ve seen you.” And Dorothy’s hand was 
in that of one of the wedding guests who held it 
firmly for a moment and released it without haste. 

“ What makes you think I have a bad memory, Mr. 
Bridges?” she returned meeting with a smile the 
eyes fixed upon her with an admiration the gazer could 
not wholly conceal. “ And now when the winter wind 
blows hard, I sometimes seem to feel the sweep of the 
motor-car as we spun over the roads last summer do- 
ing the work of an electric fan, making our own 
breezes as we went.” 

Bridges laughed. Dorothy had grown older; but 
every day seemed to have added somewhat to her 
charm. She looked like a bride herself robed in 
white. How he wished she were — if it might be his 
happy lot to choose the bridegroom. 

“ That same motor-car wind froze a bit of my cheek 
the other day,” he answered. 


74 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“Too bad!” cried the girl; and she looked at him 
critically. “But it came all right again?” she added. 
“You don’t look frozen now.” 

“ Hardly — in this room,” he laughed. “ But you’ve 
gone into so many 4 ologies ’ I was afraid you’d for- 
gotten just amusement.” 

44 Did you at college?” 

44 Oh, but I never was a student like you. I just 
scraped through and came out on the other side. I 
didn’t carry off any honors. I dare say you’ll have 
any number before you’re through with it.” 

Dorothy sighed. 44 There’s no telling,” she an- 
swered; and then smiling at him, 44 I’m finding out 
that the world is bigger than I’d supposed and that 
the best fruit grows on very high trees,” she said. 

He had found out the same fact also, and he sym- 
pathized with her. But he was too wise to say so. He 
began to talk of the amusements with which labor at 
college is lightened — the teas, the receptions, the 
sports. He wanted to find out how much she was in 
these things; he wondered if she went about as some 
of the girls did? She must see a good deal of the 
college fellows, with her brother there. Yes, and 
that dark, handsome stranger, Miss Longley’s brother, 
was there also. It seemed to Bridges as he stood talk- 
ing with her that it was time to put into execution the 
purpose he had formed the previous summer, and had 
been careful not to carry out too hastily. But there 
was such a thing as delaying its carrying out too long. 
But while he was thinking these things, all that he 
answered Dorothy was: 


“COME TO MY WEDDING ” 75 

“ Yet you’re a good climber Miss Brooke; and you 
like what grows at the top.” 

She laughed, well pleased at the compliment. But 
as she was about to answer him, there was a stir in the 
room. The minister entered and took his place in the 
corner fragrant with ferns and flowers. Masses of 
roses, of lilies, quantities of potted plants, festoons of 
ivy, smilax and other vines adorned the great room 
alive with the brilliance of beautifully gowned women 
and men with interesting faces and delightful man- 
ners. 

When the bride swept in on the arm of Colonel 
Pell, she was paler than usual- — she afterward con- 
fessed to being frightened — and her long train and the 
cut of her gown made her look taller and more slender 
than Dorothy remembered her. But the charm of her 
genuineness and her simplicity was about her like the 
perfume of the lilies she carried, and to the three girls 
who witnessed it, there was a sense of earnestness and 
even solemnity about the service which they always 
remembered. More than ever did it seem to them that 
marriage was not a light thing, but a sacred bond 
needing assurance of love for its preparation. 

Very soon the binding words were uttered, and hus- 
band and wife turned to receive the congratulations of 
their friends. 

When Dorothy’s turn in the procession came, Mr. 
Knight drew her a little toward himself, and bending 
nearer while his eyes shone with happy light, he whis- 
pered to this girl tvhose brightness in the summer days 
at Mount Rest he had much enjoyed: 


76 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“ Didn’t I do it well?” 

“To be sure you did — you ought!” she answered 
him smilingly. “ Life is very good to you.” 

“ Indeed, it is — and so is she,” he returned with a 
glance at the figure at his side. “I’m going to bear it 
in mind. Miss Brooke.” 

When the bridal pair were to set out upon their 
wedding trip, a few of the guests were going a short 
distance in the same train, and all started off together 
— a merry party. 

“ I’m not going to be spotted as a bride in my new 
clothes,” Elinor had said. “I’m going to wear this 
suit I’ve had a year.” 

“ And I’ll take a seat away from you, so that we’ll 
not seem acquainted,” acquiesced Knight. 

With laughter and gay retort the party settled itself 
in the train, Knight standing and talking with Grace 
Longley, until he perceived that Elinor had twice 
looked backward to find him. Then the two moved 
up the aisle, Knight seating Grace with Priscy and 
passing on to his place beside Elinor. She smiled de- 
murely with downcast eyes, as if assured he could not 
stay long away, and went on talking to Mr. Bridges, 
when suddenly, Priscy cried: 

“ You’ve not done it well, after all, Elinor. Look 
at your handkerchief — bridy to its backbone, if only 
it had one.” 

Mrs. Knight glanced at the cobweb of filmy muslin 
and lace she was unconsciously holding, and blushed, 
and protested that she had forgotten. 

“ Can’t somebody lend her an appropriate handker- 


COME TO MY WEDDING” 


77 

chief? pursued Priscy. “ I may want mine to weep 
into when we part; and then I have the least bit of a 
cold. Dorothy, you never have the sniffles; do lend 
her yours.” 

And Dorothy did. 

“ I don’t see how you belong on this train, Bridges,” 
said Knight. “ This isn’t your way home.” 

“Oh, yes, it is,” retorted the other. “Did you 
never hear about the longest way round?” 

“ Oh, well; I suppose you know what you’re up to.” 

“ No, I don’t exactly. But I shall find out as I go 
on.” 

Grace was not happy in the fact that Mr. Bridges 
had gone out of his way to go home with them; for 
when it came to the parting of the roads, it was with 
them, and not the bridal pair that he went on. She 
could not blame him for looking at Dorothy as he did 
when he thought nobody was seeing him. But all the 
same, she wanted the way clear for Ned if he desired 
to take it; she could not be sure how he felt, he was 
in some ways so reserved. 

Yet, how could Mr. Bridges help admiring Doro- 
thy? Nobody could, Grace thought. And after all, 
the main thing was how much Dorothy cared for him? 
She was talking with everybody and he seemed just 
one of the number. Still, Dorothy did not always 
show all she felt. Suddenly, Grace recalled that Jim- 
my Reid had told her how pale the girl had been when 
they all thought for the moment that Ned had been 
killed by the train on that motoring party when he 
had rescued the baby. But who wouldn’t have been 


;8 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

pale then? And, too, that was a year and a half 
ago. 

She had one comfort. Ned was a fellow to take a 
firm hold upon, what he desired. She had the wisdom 
to know that it was her part to let things alone. 

She began to talk to Priscy ; and in her talk she soon 
forgot her discontent. After all, this was not a real 
trouble; only anxiety about something that might 
never happen. 


IX 


DIA SCORES A SUCCESS 

Dia Chesterdown’s brush with its silver back 
swept her hair backward and forward and over her 
shoulders in shining masses as she stood before her 
glass, making ready for dinner; it was nearly time. 

Seated close beside the bureau, watching her every 
movement, was Kitty Hyde. It was not until Dia’s 
hair was coiled most becomingly upon her shapely 
head that Kitty spoke. 

“ Wait a minute,” said Dia coming across the room 
toward her and still holding the towel with which she 
had been wiping her hands. “ Do hook this waist for 
me, won’t you? It’s such a bother.” And she took up 
the waist that she had thrown across her bed, and 
deftly slipped into it, turning about for the other to 
hook it up the back. “ What did you say, Kit? ” she 
asked finally. “ I didn’t hear you.” 

“1 only said how very handsome you were,” re- 
sponded Kitty fastening the hooks rapidly. 

“Thank you!” smiled the other holding herself a 
trifle more erect. “ You’re not the only one that says 
that,” she added with a laugh. 

Kitty sighed inaudibly. 

“ That’s a love of a waist,” she remarked the next 
moment. 


79 


8o DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


“Yes, isn’t it?” said Dia regarding herself com- 
placently in the glass. 

“ I only wish I had one like it,” pursued Kitty. 

“But you know you can’t have,” retorted her 
hearer. 

“Yes, I will, too, some day when I get lots of 
money for my acting,” cried Kitty stung by the 
brusqueness of the other’s reply. 

“ That’s a very long way off. You’ll have to im- 
prove a mighty lot to make any money out of acting,” 
sneered Dia. 

“ Some other people don’t think so — that is, they 
think I do well for my age and inexperience,” 
said the girl hotly. “ Miss Brooke does,” she 
added. 

“ Ah ! ” cried Dia significantly. “ That’s the rea- 
son you think so much of her you want her to rank 
me! She flatters your vanity. You ought to be 
ashamed, Kitty.” 

“ I’ve no reason to be. I don’t want her to out- 
rank you; and you know it. I’d like to know who’s 
proving that, if I’m not.” Then having fastened the 
last hook, she came forward and faced Dia. “ But I 
don’t like your job,” she said with emphasis. 

“ Oh, you don’t indeed ! ” sneered the other. “ But 
I pay you for it,” she went on coldly. Then in a 

kinder tone she added, “ And besides, Kitty ” 

She looked at her meaningly. 

“Oh, yes, I know,” said the girl. “Of course, I’ll 
do what I can for you. But what makes you go into 
this business, Dia? You know you needn’t.” 


DIA SCORES A SUCCESS 81 

Her hearer hesitated. Then she said, “ You mean 
the business of keeping up my rank? ” 

For a moment the two girls looked at one another 
fixedly, Kitty with a wondering scrutiny, Dia with a 
sullen acquiescence in the suggestion evidently in the 
gazer’s mind, that Mr. Chesterdown expected it. Then 
Kitty said : 

“ I thought ’twas only that you didn’t like her. 
She’s been awfully kind to me.” 

“ She’s given you things, you mean? ” questioned 
Dia scornfully. 

Kitty looked into her eyes with defiance. 

“Yes, she has,” she answered. “ She has given me 
kind looks and words and encouragement — and — and 
interest in what I was doing and hoped to make of 
myself.” 

“ Indeed ! Quite a young philanthropist ! ” com- 
mented Dia. “ Then I take it, she’s not given you 
clothes, or money? And you’d be rather badly off if 
I didn’t.” 

“That’s all right; and you know it,” said Kitty 
her face hardening from the gentleness it had worn 
in speaking of the friendliness of Dorothy. 

“But about this matter,” pursued Miss Chester- 
down. “ It’s dinner time now. I must go in a mo- 
ment. I may be able to make my own arrangements. 
I only wish I could. But there are so many interrup- 
tions, one can’t be sure, and I must think of what 
people may say. This must never be known, you un- 
derstand? ” 

“ Oh, yes, I’ll do your job,” said Kitty in a kind of 


82 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


scorn. “ I know the ropes. Don’t go over it again ; 
I’m tired of it. I hate it,” she added vehemently. 
“ This is my bundle, I believe? Good-by then,” as Dia 
nodded silently. 

And Kitty was off before the other had quite as- 
sured herself that the girl was sufficiently trained in 
her part. But, upon the whole, things had gone well. 
And she went down to dinner in smiling satisfaction. 

But if she was satisfied, Kitty was far from being 
so. Yet she would keep her promise, and if Dia 
could not make her own arrangement, would do it for 
her. She must. By to-morrow she would know. 

After dinner came visitors to the great room which 
the girls used as reading room, to meet and talk in, 
to receive their guests, the visitors who dropped in 
thus often being some of the college fellows who 
chanced to remember them, for although Ridgemore 
as an institution was not popular with the other col- 
lege, the girls still had their friends among the stu- 
dents. 

Of the several who came that evening, three called 
upon Dia. The first took his leave when Raynor, the 
second, arrived. The latter remained quite a while, 
and as Dia and he occupied a window seat apart from 
the others, most of whom seemed to be finding some 
cause of general merriment as they were grouped 
about the great table, she had opportunity to speak 
with him upon a subject not of general concern, al- 
though it most surely would have been of general in- 
terest, had it been known. 

“ You must be aware I’d do anything in the world 


DIA SCORES A SUCCESS 83 

to be of service to you, or to please you, Miss Ches- 
terdown,” said Raynor with a glance of admiration at 
the brilliant face beside him. “ You say Miss Hyde is 
perfectly reliable? Absolutely so, you’re sure? I’m 
not acquainted with the young lady. Does she know 
me by sight? It would be bad to have a blunder in 
this affair, you see. ,, 

Dia laughed. “ Kitty is no blunderer, Mr. Ray- 
nor; or I’d have nothing to do with her. She’s as 
clever as — as clever as one need to be made,” she 
went on. “ You forget that Mr. Raynor is a marked 
man,” she smiled, referring to his football record. 
“ Kitty knows the players better than I do — with one 
or two exceptions.” 

“ I see,” answered Raynor flushing with pleasure. 
Miss Chesterdown the college beauty and favorite 
knew how to treat him very differently from that top- 
lofty Dorothy Brooke with her talk of being a school- 
girl! Possibly, in a year and a half she had learned 
better; but she should never have opportunity to dis- 
cover. She was of no account to him, however; he 
was merely choosing to please Dia. But if in doing 
this, he paid Dorothy for her snub, why, it would not 
hurt his feelings. Suddenly though he broke off from 
their discussion of the best way to fulfil their purpose, 
to say in a voice that carried : 

“How are you, Brooke? I thought you were fast 
in the grip of an agony over to-morrow’s exam? ” 

“I wriggled out for a few minutes,” returned Rex 
making his way to Dia, and by her permission seating 
himself on the other side from Raynor, whence he 


84 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

looked across at him with a quizzical expression as if 
he would say : “ How are you going to help your- 

self? Monopolies are out of date.” 

Raynor did not help himself. In a few minutes he 
took his departure, secretly enjoying the fact that he 
and Dia had been arranging what might prove a little 
disappointment to the sister of this brisk young fel- 
low he was leaving on the ground. But that was 
merely a possibility; he had nothing to do with it; 
his whole duty was to please Miss Chesterdown, and 
he intended to perform it. 

Dorothy was away at the wedding that evening. 
But this fact did not seem to dampen Rex’s good spir- 
its, and he spent a pleasant half-hour with Dia, going 
away with a keen appreciation of what a very hand- 
some girl she was and how well she talked. 

But, unaccountably, as he walked home under the 
starlight, he seemed for a moment to be once more in 
his motor-car under the summer stars, and to hear the 
tones of a voice that awoke in him far different feel- 
ings from any that Miss Chesterdown had inspired. 
It was true that Lulu Bromley could never be called 
as handsome as Dia Chesterdown. But she was really 
brighter; and Rex told himself as he went on that 
there was about her something a fellow could tie his 
faith to. He could not exactly explain what it was; 
but she was different, he repeated to himself. He 
thought he would soon get an evidence of how very 
different; he could manage this without anybody’s 
knowing, not even Doro who ought to be told because 
she would rejoice, but who would not be. Dear little 


DIA SCORES A SUCCESS 


85 


Doro! She had really been working too hard. He 
was glad she was having a little fun. 

The evening of Dorothy’s return she took out her 
thesis again. She had it not only in the brain, but on 
the brain; there would be no peace until she had put 
the thing out of her power to change by handing it in. 
And then — what? In spite of her fears, Dorothy 
smiled in her sense of ability and her remembrance of 
how kind fate had often been to her. 

It was a week later that Professor Whitehall sat in 
his study in the small hours of the night, on either 
hand of him a pile of theses, on one side those ex- 
amined, on the other those still to be examined — too 
many by half for him that night, thought the profes- 
sor who had been working long and hard and whose 
personal fatigue spread a weariness over the pages of 
whatever he read. He was grateful for the refresh- 
ment of a bright thought or a witty remark. He found 
the thesis of Miss Chesterdown, that handsome and 
brilliant girl, really enlivening, if not deep; and he 
gave full credit for the entertainment he had received 
from it. 

From one essay to another he went on, growing 
more tired and sleepy. Dorothy’s was the last paper. 
The first page was good ; but as the others had no con- 
nection with this and as to context made no sense, he 
tossed down the thesis and marked it very low for in- 
consequence of ideas. For the professor had never 
a thought that he had taken up two pages together 
and so passed from the first to the third. It was two> 


86 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


o’clock in the morning. There was ambiguity some- 
where. As soon as he had credited Dorothy with it, 
he turned off the lights and w r ent to bed. 

On her way to her lesson in History, a few days 
later Dorothy met two of Dia’s especial friends. 
They stopped her. 

“ Have you heard about Miss Chesterdown? ” they 
cried exultantly. “ Her thesis ranks the very highest 
in the class — as it ought. You know what that means 
for her general rank, Miss Brooke?” 

“ Oh, yes,” returned the girl keeping her voice 
steady, although her heart contracted. What had she 
herself been marked, she wondered? “ My congrat- 
ulations to Miss Chesterdown,” she said. 

“We’ll tell her,” they returned, a little regretful 
that they had been able to perceive no envy, or had 
heard no disparagement. 

After her lesson Dorothy hurried to her room. 
There was her thesis. She had written it so carefully 
that if it had not won first honors, it must have re- 
ceived a word of commendation. She opened it in 
haste. 

She stood a moment, staring at it, incredulous, in- 
dignant, overwhelmed. Then throwing herself into 
a chair, she burst into bitter tears. In her whole 
successful school life she had never received such a 
mark. It was a disgrace! But a disgrace to the un- 
fairness that had given it. 

Should she complain — remonstrate? Never! Af- 
ter her first sudden yielding to emotion, she sat for 
a time gathering together her forces. At last she rose, 


DIA SCORES A SUCCESS 87 

put away the thesis, and stood looking out of her win- 
dow. 

“ This is not the end,” she said to herself. “ Doro- 
thy Brooke is not beaten, only hard hit. She will re- 
cover. Mr. Harris is not the one wrong. It’s in me; 
and it shall come out.” 

A knock at her door. She opened it reluctantly, 
having first hastily mopped her eyes. 

“ It’s a burning shame, Dorothy ! ” cried Priscy Pell 
as she entered. 

“ We wouldn’t say anything, Dorothy dear, if it 
were just,” explained Grace following her and care- 
fully closing the door. “ But you so able, and marked 
low!” 

“ How did you know that? ” asked the girl. 

“ Oh, we don’t know what the marking is ; nobody 
does, I’m sure. But — I heard it was low, and it’s a 
shame; it’s so Unjust to you. Won’t Ned be angry! ” 

“ I wouldn’t tell him,” said Dorothy. “ I don’t care 
though,” she added the next moment. “ It is unjust. 
But don’t be troubled, girls. The year is not over 
yet.” 

“ Indeed, it’s not ! ” they cried. And Dorothy ar- 
rived at a little comfort herself as she comforted them 
and was soothed by their sympathy. 

Two days later as she was passing through the hall 
of the dormitory, Kitty Hyde detached herself from a 
group of girls discussing Dia’s triumphs and her splen- 
did literary abilities. 

“ Miss Brooke ! Miss Brooke ! ” she called. “ Wait 
a moment. I’m coming with you. May I? ” 


88 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


“Of course you may. I should be glad to have 
you,” said Dorothy. 

As the two entered her room, Kitty looked at her 
companion earnestly in silence. Then she said sig- 
nificantly : 

“Hold on, Miss Brooke; and you’ll come out all 
right. Just keep straight on, I say, and ” Sud- 

denly she checked herself — “ and ’twill be all right,” 
she repeated and turned away for a moment. It was 
not the first time that Kitty Hyde had seemed about to 
tell her something, and had broken off from it. 

But Dorothy would not question her; she appeared 
not to notice. 

“ Thank you, Kitty,” she said, too honest to pre- 
tend not to understand her. “ I have no other inten- 
tion.” 

“Yes, it will come out all right,” repeated Kitty 
once more smiling. “ Miss Hewes is to be here at 
three o’clock, you told me,” she added directly. “ You 
said you had to go to a lesson then, and it wouldn’t dis- 
turb you if we met here to talk things over and make 
arrangements. May I wait here a few minutes for 
her? I won’t speak a word to you if you’re studying.” 
And she took up a book. 


X 


MR. BRIDGES, DOROTHY ” 

Two days after the wedding Charley Bridges en- 
tered his father’s office in a temper that might cer- 
tainly have been improved. He wrote a letter or two, 
dictated a few more to the stenographer, looked these 
over and signed them, giving orders that. they be posted 
at once. Then he took up his hat and passed out of 
the office. 

“ I’ve been here since Charley was a little fellow,’’ 
remarked the old clerk in the office of Bridges, Sr., 
“ and I never saw him cross before. What ails him? ” 

“ In love perhaps,” snickered the stenographer, a 
young fellow who loved his joke and little thought 
that his random shot had gone to the mark. 

For while Bridges was waiting for Dorothy 
Brooke’s heart to wake up, he had begun to realize 
that his own heart had grown too wide-awake for him 
to be able to put it to sleep again. When he had seen 
her at the wedding, she was more beautiful than ever. 
Was he the only fellow to find this out? 

And why should he have supposed Dorothy’s heart 
slow and sleepy, when her head was so wide-awake? 
If he wanted her to find him at hand when she awoke, 
there was not a day to be lost. Too much caution was 
worse than too little. Was he going to allow her heart 
89 


90 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDEMORE 

to wake up, as he had put it to himself, with that 
handsome fellow, Longley, and nobody knew how 
many other fellows about, none of whom could by any 
possibility be unmoved by her attractions ? 

“ I shall have to put in solid work there,” he mused. 
“ The sooner I do it, the better. I may have lost too 
much time already. She seemed glad to see me at the 
wedding. But so she did to see Miss Morris and 
Knight, and even more glad of Colonel Pell’s cordial 
treatment. What did he mean when he said to me 
confidentially: ‘She found my daughter for me, 
Bridges’? Of course, Dorothy had done something 
good; she’s always doing that. I’d like to know what 
it was. But it’s not the first time I’ve taken her upon 
faith, and been glad of it. I wish I could take on 
faith that she likes me,” he sighed. “ But she’s a girl 
to whom a fellow must put it squarely, and then take 
his chance, and not dally over it either.” 

“ Dad,” he said the same evening at dinner, “you 
were talking of sending Roberts on that insurance 
matter? You said you thought it would keep him 
about a week? ” 

“Yes,” answered Bridges, Sr. “An’ he’ll be 
mighty spry if he gits through it in that time. Things 
are in a bad mix there. ’Twill take a good head to 
clear up the business. I don’t want to spare Roberts 
just now, but there’s nothing else to do.” 

“Yes,” returned the young man, “there is some- 
thing else to do, if you’d like to do it.” 

“ What, Charley? ” asked the other briskly. 

“ Send me.” 


“MR. BRIDGES, DOROTHY ” 


9i 


A light of pleasure flashed into the face of the elder 
man. “You, Charley? ” he cried eagerly. “Why, 
bless my soul, you really mean you’d go ? ” 

“ Yes, I will; if you’ll trust the business to me.” 

“Trust it to you! Just as soon as to myself. I’d 
rather you than Roberts by a long chalk. But I 
didn’t think you’d be willing. Are you? You seem to 
be chock full of your own business.” 

“ I can do some of my own business at the same 
time. I don’t want to pose as a martyr, dad. The 
fact is, it’s my own business I’m going for. I can put 
yours in as a blind to people I don’t want to have 
know what my business is.” 

“ Bless my soul ! So you can, Charley.” And the 
elder man smiled in satisfaction at his clever son who, 
he supposed, was planning some scoop in the world of 
finance. He would have been no less interested and 
amused, however, had he known what the young 
man’s business actually was. For the father had said 
more than once that it was full time Charley was 
settled in life. 

So, it was arranged that the following week, or 
as much longer as necessary, young Bridges was to 
spend in the city just beyond which was Ridgemore 
College. 

He had made his opportunity. 

It was a beautiful winter’s day. Dorothy had been 
working hard in the laboratory, and had gone for a 
walk; to get the delightful perfumes of her chemical 
experiments out of her nose, she had said to Grace 


92 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

and Priscy whom she had carried off with her. They 
could not spare the time to go skating, for Dorothy 
was so fond of the exercise that she declared it would 
be too exasperating to have to take off her skates 
again almost as soon as she had them well on and 
starting off of their own accord. Besides, she had a 
packet to mail at once, for she had roused from the 
throes of mortification over her scorned thesis to write 
another story for Mr. Harris. She possessed that 
admirable Anglo-Saxon characteristic of fighting on 
through defeat, which in the end has won so many 
victories, indeed, without which ability and the use 
of it, few victories worth recording have ever been 
won. Mr. Harris might be as severe as Professor 
Whitehall. But she did not believe it; she would try 
him, she was not going to be afraid of him. And the 
little bird that sang in her heart trilled that this time 
she had done well and that Mr. Harris was just the 
man to find it out, and had more brains than the pro- 
fessor who had turned down her thesis. 

Dorothy was a little excited, as she always was 
when she sent the children of her brain out into the 
world. Priscy who had been doing fine work and felt 
happy over it, was in high spirits, and Grace whose 
average was good although not brilliant, was enjoy- 
ing herself in her quiet but by no means silent way. 
The sky was so bright, the air so bracing that the walk 
lengthened more than they had at first intended. But 
declaring that they could all do more in an hour now 
than in two without the ozone they had been drinking 
in, they again came into sight of Ridgemore, to be 


MR. BRIDGES, DOROTHY ” 


93 


joined by Rex and Ned Longley also out for a change, 
as Rex said and having resolved to run in to see how 
their sisters were taking life — “ not my sister, but the 
other man’s sister,” he added nodding saucily at Grace 
with a smile that also included Priscy. Dorothy 
laughed as she looked at him — he was a dear fellow. 
Then she glanced at Ned who was watching her and 
whose gaze as it met hers turned to Rex with a smile 
of appreciation. 

“ Do come in,” said Priscy from the opened door. 
“ The zephyrs are blowing into the house rather se- 
verely.” 

Grace, the first to enter the reception room, turned 
back at the threshold and came up to Dorothy. 

“ Mr. Bridges is here,” she said to her in an under- 
tone, and then at once went forward to the young man 
as he rose to meet her. 

“Two bad we’ve kept you waiting,” said Dorothy 
as she shook hands with him. “ How long have you 
been here? ” 

“ Oh, a very long time by my feelings,” he laughed. 
“ About ten minutes by the clock.” 

“You can never depend upon clocks, you know,” 
said Ned with a smile which obviated the necessity 
for his declaring, as Rex had done, that he was glad 
to see Mr. Bridges. He was very courteous, but 
Charley Bridges understood the situation and did not 
look for more. It was upon Dorothy that his eyes 
turned anxiously, and she seemed pleased to see him, 
as she was. Therefore, he was satisfied with his re- 
ception. 


94 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

Learning that Bridges was staying in the city, Ned 
promptly suggested to Rex that they take him to the 
theatre. 

The very suggestion was unpleasant to Bridges. It 
recalled to him how Longley and Dorothy were al- 
ways — or often — at work over stuff for the theatre; 
he had heard them call it copy, he was not up in such 
things. He had never been especially fond of the 
stage. He preferred a good spin in his motor-car to 
seeing almost any play he had ever heard about. And 
since he had realized how w r ork upon plays brought 
Dorothy and that Longley fellow together he had liked 
the theatre less than ever. 

But now he was in a dilemma. If he should refuse, 
and it had been Longley’s intention that he and Brooke 
should invite those present — the theatre was the very 
place for him. He hesitated, and looked from Ned to 
Rex in greater perplexity than he meant to exhibit. 
Of course, there was no way out; he saw that he must 
accept and take the risk. Perhaps Longley meant all 
right. 

“ Thank you,” he began. “ I should ” 

But he was destined never to discover what Long- 
ley had intended. For at that moment Rex cried out: 

“ Why, he’s one of the old fellows here ! Let’s give 
him a reception, Longley. He’d like it better, I’m sure. 
I’ve been trying desperately to get hold of somebody 
to give a reception for,” he laughed — “ somebody 
worth doing it for, I mean,” he added. “ And now 
you’re here.” 

Whether or not Ned assented willingly, he did it 


“MR. BRIDGES, DOROTHY ” 


95 

graciously. And this time Bridges accepted with 
alacrity, assured that the invitation included the whole 
group. 

The girls were delighted, and said so. 

“ You ought to feel flattered, Mr. Bridges,” cried 
Priscy. “ We’ve been just dying for an invitation to 
a reception over there, and we’ve not had a hint of one 
before. But the minute you come — only listen!” 

The visitor laughed. “ I hope you’re not insinuating 
the prodigal son and the fatted calf, Miss Pell?” he 
said. 

“ Ought I ? ” she retorted. “ Aren’t we going to 
get the invitation on account of Mr. Bridges? ” And 
she looked at Ned. 

“ Why, I didn’t think of it that way,” he answered. 
“ You’ll all come in on the hospitality committee and 
help us entertain; you’re among the hosts. We’re di- 
viding up Bridges, as Dorothy said of Harry. We’re 
all in it.” 

Dorothy had been wondering how he would get out 
of the dilemma of Priscy’s accusation. Now she 
laughed. 

“ We’ll have Mrs. Cutter for chaperon, if we can 
get her, girls,” she said. “She’s so kind; and she 
knows what fun means.” 

“ What a provident young woman you are, Doro ! ” 
cried Rex. ‘ Well, provide yourselves with Mrs. Cut- 
ter if you can. And, girls, be sure to wear something 
chic ! The fellows will expect so much of our sis- 
ters.” And he turned to Ned, his mouth grave, his 
eyes shining. “As for Coolonel Pell’s daughter,” he 


9 6 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

went on, “ nothing she can do will exceed our ideals.” 

“ Where did you get your sauciness ? ” cried Pell- 
Mell laughing. 

“Borrowed it from Dorothy, and never returned 
it. That’s the reason she hasn’t any. But how long 
do you stay, Bridges? ” 

“That’s a little indefinite,” answered the young 
man. “ I’m attending to some business for my father 
which may take quite a little' time. We and the firm 
we’re dealing with have two opinions, you see, and 
each of us keeps his grip on his own end of the stick. 
So, whether that’ll break in two, or one of us get the 
whole of it, is the problem just now I suspect it 
will take a while to work out. 

“I should say so! Glad of it,” responded Rex 
heartily. He came up to Bridges, and looking down 
at him, for he was decidedly the taller, said : “ My sis- 
ter has told us at home how thoughtful you were in 
the summer and how much you and your fine motor- 
car did to keep her in trim for this year’s work. We 
appreciate it.” 

“ The kindness was all on her side,” returned 
Bridges not a little embarrassed. 

“ Indeed, it was!” ran Ned’s thought hotly. 

“ Miss Brooke and Miss Leslie were delightful com- 
pany,” added Bridges. 

“Especially, Miss Brooke!” came to the tip of 
Rex’s tongue But he bit off the retort and threw it 
away unuttered, and merely smiled as he looked at the 
other. 

That night in his own room Bridges asked himself 


“MR. BRIDGES, DOROTHY” 97 

concerning this look from Dorothy’s brother. Did he 
mean, “ Go ahead ” ? 

But to Rex it had meant only: “ You’re a good fel- 
low. Take your place if you want to, and have your 
try.” 

The next evening but one Bridges brought Dorothy 
out a book which he had happened to hear her say she 
wanted to read. 

“ Oh, thank you, Mr. Bridges,” she said, disturbed 
that she should have even seemed to hint at the thing 
which she had not dreamed of doing. “ But ” 

“ And when you’ve read it, you know,” he went on, 
“ and Miss Pell and Miss Longley, if they care for it, 
perhaps you’ll pass it over to your brother. I don’t 
know whether it’s his kind. But he’ll know.” 

“ Oh, thank you, Mr. Bridges,” said Dorothy again, 
secretly amused at his way of making it impossible 
for her to refuse a book of which practically she was 
to own only a quarter. 

But although the young man might at present divide 
his gifts in order to have them accepted, on the 
principle of the half loaf being better than no bread, 
he did not by any means intend to divide his at- 
tentions, or to leave Dorothy in doubt as to his pur- 
pose. 

“ But slow and sure,” he said to himself after this 
second visit 

“Where did Miss Brooke pick up this Bridges?” 
inquired Mr. Norris of Priscy Pell the evening of the 
reception. “He is her pick, isn’t he?” he added 


98 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

watching with amusement Bridges’ attempts to talk 
to Dorothy between the words of several other young 
men about her. “ He’s setting up for a monopoly, 
isn’t he, Miss Pell?” 

Priscy laughed softly. “ It looks like it,” she said. 

“ I always thought Longley was booked for that 
conquest,” went on Norris. “ Has he backed out of 
the running? Or is he too secure to worry over a 
rival ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said the girl again. “ I don’t 
think he’s conceited though.” 

“ By no means. But he’s mighty close-mouthed ; 
and proud as — a certain nameless individual,” finished 
Norris with a smile. 

“ He’s awfully nice,” asserted Priscy. 

“ No end of that, Miss Pell.” 

“ But so is Mr. Bridges. I should say it was a 
toss-up.” 

“ But I imagine Miss Brooke will prefer to make up 
her mind? ” 

“ Oh, it hasn’t come to that,” retorted Priscy hastily. 
“ We’re all college girls here. What minds we all 
possess have to be put into science and economics and 
literature.” 

“And play-writing. Oh, I see.” And Norris’ 
manner to her suddenly became a little less impressive. 
Miss Pell had adroitly warned him, and he preferred 
a warning to a snub. He liked her the better for her 
reserve. The harder she was to win, the more worthy. 
Norris could not himself tell whether he only wanted 


“MR. BRIDGES, DOROTHY” 99 

to talk to Priscy for the fun they had together, or 
for any deeper feeling behind it. At any rate, what 
she wanted was the thing that must go. 

“ Depend on it, Bridges isn’t looking at the matter 
so,” he said the next moment. “ There ! He’s got 
her now for five minutes, I hope ; he’s been trying this 
half hour. No! Too bad! There’s Longley just 
strolled up and asked Miss Brooke something or other 
— anything, I imagine, to make her turn away from 
Bridges and look at him. Oh, these fellows, Miss 
Pell! They’re a wicked set, aren’t they? ” 

Priscy looked across the room, and joined in Nor- 
ris’ laugh. 

“ How she is enjoying it! ” he commented. “ She’s 
holding them as if they were in a pair of balances and 
she trying to keep the beam even f Ha ! ha ! ha ! Miss 
Brooke is no end of a clever girl.” 

“ And of a lovely one ! ” said Priscy rather hotly. 

“Yes, indeed!” he assented with great readiness. 
“ I’m broken-hearted now thinking of her attrac- 
tions ! ” 

This time he merely smiled at his companion. It 
was Pell-Mell who laughed. 

“Where do I stand?” said Bridges to himself in 
his own room that night. “ I’ve been treated to a tip- 
top reception done up in the swellest style — no doubt 
of that. But where am I? Where do I stand with 
her, I say? Miss Pell entertained me for quite a 
while in first-class style ; she’s immensely bright. And 
Miss Longley took pity on me while I was waiting to 


100 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


get the chance I wanted. I could see she was divided 
between anxiety for her brother and sympathy for me. 
I suspect she’s a tender-hearted little girl. 

“ But the great question — the only question, is, 
where is Dorothy? Where does she stand? Or I 
ought to say, where do I stand with her? ” 

The next moment he half smiled to himself, as he 
added whimsically, “ I doubt whether an X-ray would 
illuminate the situation.” 


XI 


ROSE HEWES’ MODEL 

The two girls sat in Rose He wes’s studio, a work- 
room with an excellent light for painting, and a fewi 
touches of feminine comfort and taste, such as an ar- 
tist’s slender purse could afford; for the studio was 
also living room and bedroom. The accessories of 
housekeeping were hidden away, and the couch with 
its ornamental covering and its fanciful pillows looked 
guiltless of the thought of being a bed. 

Before the girls was an easel holding the canvas 
upon which Rose had been sketching the outlines of a 
face in which she had caught admirably the best pose 
and character of the sitter. She had been working 
long and diligently, and had now thrown herself into 
a chair beside Kitty to rest. 

“ I like that,” said Kitty viewing the canvas. 

“ Rather early to decide,” laughed Rose. 

“Oh, no, it isn’t,” answered the other. “You’ve 
hit the air I have — perhaps I have it because I feel it 
— when I’m going to recite or act my best. I may be 
wrong, but I call it ‘me’. Lots of days I’m just the 
girl that works in the big store; I’m no account, any- 
way. But sometimes I’m different; and you’re going 
to hit one of the times. I don’t see how.” 

Rose smiled, well pleased. 

IOI 


102 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


“ I’ve seen you act,” she said. “ And then,” she 
added after a moment’s hesitation, “ don’t you think, 
Miss Hyde, you are more like that, more in your best 
moods, I mean, in Miss Brooke’s room where you feel 
free? I’ve seen you there.” 

The girl’s eyes flashed as they turned upon her. 

“ But ain’t she the one ! ” she cried. “ If there’s 
anything in you, she makes you out with it. I don’t 
understand; but, somehow, I feel more encouraged 
whenever I see her. ’T would be a jolly world to live 
in if there were lots like her.” 

“ You’re right there,” said Rose. “ I’m an artist 
now — or trying to be one — on account of her and her 
mother.” 

. And she poured into her companion’s eager ears the 
story of the summer when they had all gone motoring 
as Dorothy’s guests. How Rose by accepting an in- 
vitation to visit Dorothy after having refused it, had 
crowded out one of the other guests from the motor- 
car; but how Dorothy, and all of them had been so 
good to her. And how when they had found out that 
she could do a little painting, Dorothy’s mother had 
put it to Mr. Hewes in such a way that he had al- 
lowed Rose to study and given her some money to 
help her on in her hard times. 

“ My father doesn’t understand,” said the girl. 
“ He thinks a little money goes a great way. But I 
feel I shall get on now.” 

They spoke of Dorothy’s kindness and helpfulness, 
even before they spoke of her beauty and her abil- 
ity. 



“YOU’VE HIT THE AIR I HAVE.” 





ROSE HEWES’ MODEL 


103 

Kitty hesitated. Then she said, “ Dia Chesterdown 
is afraid of Miss Brooke.” 

“Afraid of her?” questioned Rose. 

“Yes, she is. She’s afraid Miss Brooke will get 
ahead of her; she’s so smart, you know — I mean, she 
knows so much.” 

“ But Miss Chesterdown is a fine scholar,” said Rose 
cautiously. For she was aware of Kitty’s intimacy 
with the latter. 

“ Oh, yes, she can do anything, she’s so quick. And 
she wants to keep ahead because — for several reasons. 
But she doesn’t love study the way Miss Brooke does.” 

“ How do you know Miss Brooke loves study? ” in- 
quired Rose curiously. How should Kitty know this 
from her slight acquaintance with Dorothy? Miss 
Chesterdown’s ambitions she might have had good op- 
portunity to fathom. 

“ Just the same way as I know lots of other things,” 
returned the girl. “ I see, and I feel about people. I 
always get it right — most always, anyway. Did you 
ever see her in the gymnasium? ”'she questioned turn- 
ing from the subject of her own intuitions. 

“ No,” said Rose. 

“She’s just splendid. There’s only one girl comes 
up to her — and that isn’t Dia. That little girl with 
the reddish hair that she calls ‘ Pell-Mell,’ can just 
about tie herself up into a knot in the gym. And 
Miss Longley, the one that has the handsome brother, 
is too sweet for anything. But Mi9s Brooke’s 
brother is the wide-awake one! Isn’t he killing? 
She introduced him one day when I happened to 


104 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

come in and he was there. He kept us laughing for 
five minutes straight; and then went off saying he 
felt blue and must find somebody to sympathize.” 
And Kitty laughed at the recollection. 

But soon Rose went back to her work. She had 
great power of application, partly native, or she would 
have been worth nothing as an artist or as anything 
else for that matter, but also as a result of training in 
the long hours when she and her mother had toiled 
from morning to night summer days to make things 
right for their boarders. Rose was grateful to her 
father for what he had done for her. Yet she felt 
that the money he gave her was hers by right as well 
as by kindness; she had earned it by hard labor. 
Her first artist friend had never relaxed her kindness, 
and Rose’s own courage and tact and ability had won 
her a place among the young artists around her. She 
was ambitious for fame; but above this, she loved 
her work. She was now trying for a large prize to 
be given for the most successful portrait. If she won 
it, it not only would put her into a higher position as 
an artist, but it would give her money to go abroad, 
as she felt that she must do before she could work at 
her best. Kitty’s face had interested her at first 
glance, and it won upon her; she knew that she could 
paint this girl better than any other that she had seen. 
She was so glad to have her for a model, or rather, 
for a sitter; for Kitty could not give her more time 
than for this one portrait. 

The picture, if accepted, would be upon exhibition. 
Perhaps it would take the prize. Rose’s heart trem- 


ROSE HEWES’ MODEL 105 

bled with eagerness, but her hand was as steady as 
an artist’s should be as she turned her eyes from 
Kitty to the canvas, and by deft touches transferred 
to it so nearly as she could what she saw in the girl’s 
face. Her picture on exhibition! That would mean 
something. Her father would believe in that. And 
her dear, patient, loving mother who missed her so 
much and was willing to miss her for Rose’s sake, 
should come to see it — if it really came to being ex- 
hibited. She forgot time and fatigue as she worked 
on at white heat of zeal. At last, a sigh from Kitty 
brought her to herself. 

“ You’re tired, Miss Hyde?” 

“ No, indeed!” laughed the other. “ I don’t get 
tired sitting and doing nothing but watch your fin- 
gers fly. How do you do it?” 

“ How do you act? ” retorted Rose, smiling at her, 
as for the second time she threw down her brush. 

“ It’s not that I’m tired,” went on Kitty. “ It’s 
because my time is up. I’ve got to go ; and I’m aw- 
fully sorry for it.” 

“ So am I. I’m just in the mood. The light is 
good; you’re all right. Can’t we arrange it some- 
how ? ” 

“ If you’ll telephone to my substitute to hold on till 
I come,” said Kitty. “But ” She stopped ab- 

ruptly. 

Rose having the address, was already at the tele- 
phone. 

“ It’s extra time; she will make it all right with 
you,” she called. “And I’ll make it all right with 


10 6 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


you, Miss Hyde, and thank you so much,” she said. 
“And now, if you’re not tired, I’ll go on again. I 
can’t afford the time to wait — for fear the mood will 
leave me.” 

“Are you like me?” cried Kitty. “Do your 
moods get offended and ^o away if you don’t treat 
them well? And perhaps won’t come back?” 

“ Yes, that’s what mine do. That’s why I’m work- 
ing now,” returned Rose as she took up her brush 
again. For an hour she painted in a silence which 
Kitty with rare appreciation would not break. Then 
she smiled at her patient sitter. “ Thank you so 
much for being so good to me” she said as she laid 
down her brush. “ And now, as soon as I’ve put up 
my paints and things, we’ll have luncheon, a cozy 
little luncheon here. It will be nicer than going out; 
and we can talk.” 

“ Luncheon here ! ” cried Kitty springing up in de- 
light. “Oh, how jolly!” Then she looked about 
her, and seeing nothing that suggested culinary mat- 
ters, said, “ I suppose you keep everything behind that 
mysterious screen?” 

“ Come and see,” smiled Rose as she lighted a tiny 
gas stove. “Tea, or coffee, Miss Hyde?” 

“ This is 4 Kitty,’ ” said the girl. 

“Well then, Kitty, tea or coffee?” 

“ Coffee, if you like it as well.” 

“ I like it better,” said Rose as she took up her 
coffee-pot. 

“ Do let me help,” said the other. 

“ Thank you. Then, please draw forward that 


ROSE HEWES’ MODEL 


107 

small table, take off the cloth and lay it smoothly over 
the lounge. Open the drawer in the table and you’ll 
find a Japanese tablecloth and some napkins; and 
here is my cupboard.” 

Behind the screen stood a trunk turned endwise, 
the lid serving as a door. Cleats had been nailed on 
the sides of the trunk, and upon these rested a shelf. 
On the shelf were tumblers, spoons, saucers, plates 
for fruit and preserves. Against the sides of the 
trunk on small brass hooks hung cups, a dainty cream 
ewer, a larger pitcher. On the bottom of the trunk 
were plates and dishes, and standing behind these two 
pretty platters. At one side were knives and spoons 
for cooking. On the outside of this improvised cup- 
board were larger brass hooks from which hung a 
few cooking implements of which Rose knew how to 
make excellent use. Opening the tin breadbox which 
stood on this cupboard she took out a loaf from which 
she cut slices and laid on the side of the toaster 
now glowing red-hot on her stove. She handed 
Kitty a box of sardines an'd requested her to open 
it. 

“We must be ready the instant the omelette is 
done,” she announced, and proceeded to butter the 
toast with a practiced hand. By this time the pan for 
the omelette was ready, and Rose soon had a delicious 
concoction, golden below and crowned with foaming 
whiteness. “ Coffee, second course,” she announced 
as the two sat down. Kitty who saw nothing else, 
secretly wondered what the second course was to be. 
But another corner of the breadbox furnished dainty 


io8 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


crackers, and from an unsuspected place Rose brought 
forward some delicious dates. 

“ I’d like to know where we could go to get any- 
thing like this!” cried Kitty. “And it’s so cozy.” 

For a while she talked, and then fell silent so long 
that Rose wondered what the matter was and was 
about to ask her, when the girl looked up. There 
was a change in her face, a something that the artist 
had not seen there before and would be sure to em- 
body in her picture ; the fault in Kitty’s face had been 
that it was a little hard. Now, however, there was a 
beautiful gentleness in it. She seemed about to speak, 
and hesitated. At last, she said softly, “ I haven’t 
had anything like this — so homelike — since my mother 
died.” She dropped her eyes, Rose thought because 
she did not want her tears to be seen. But her own 
eyes were full of tears as she watched her companion. 
She knew now that the portrait would be better than 
ever. 

In a moment Kitty had rallied, and for the rest of 
the meal was gay, telling amusing stories and listening 
to Rose’s description of things at her home. She 
went away saying that it had been very jolly indeed, 
and she should be glad to come again. But Miss 
Hewes must not take all that trouble for her next 
time. 

“What You envy my having company, instead 
of having to eat all alone, as I generally do?” asked 
the other. “ I’ve enjoyed it a great deal more than 
you have.” 

“You couldn’t!” cried Kitty as she ran off. 


ROSE HEWES’ MODEL 


109 

“ Poor, lonely little girl!” mused Rose. I’ll tell 
Dorothy about her.” 

The following day, face to face with the portrait 
that she had sketched out, Rose found in it the hint 
of likeness to some other person. It haunted her, for 
she could not discover whose likeness, nor be sure that 
it was not all her imagination because she had been 
studying Kitty’s face in its varieties of expression. 

“ She doesn’t seem to have noticed it,” she thought. 
“ I’ll not speak of it to her ; it may disturb her and 
bring a consciousness, as if I were painting somebody 
else, which is not true. It’s only like a composite 
face, as if I’d tried to get all her charming looks rolled 
into one.” 

And although this haunting likeness did not fade, 
Rose put it away from her, and, finally, forgot it in 
her absorption in her sitter. She noticed that once 
or twice Kitty had looked at the portrait a little oddly, 
as if something more than the usual interest occurred 
to her also. But she said nothing. It was not until 
the picture was entirely finished that a word dropped 
from Kitty led Rose to believe that the likeness ap- 
peared to her also. But she would give no explana- 
tion, and the thing passed off as a mere coincidence, 
which Rose knew that it was. 

It was in April when the portrait was hung in the 
gallery for exhibition, to await the verdict of the 
judges. 


XII 


WINTER WORK AND PLAY 

“ I’d been at it until I couldn’t stand the thing an- 
other minute,” said Dorothy. “ I pitched my Greek 
into one corner and that stupidest of books on ancient 
philosophy under the table, and ran out into the hall 
to see if I couldn’t find somebody who wanted to do 
something. And by good luck I found Pell-Mell, 
who’s always ready for anything.” 

“ Anything good ! ” interrupted that young lady 
sitting by. 

Dorothy nodded with a smile, and looked about 
upon her auditors in the reception-room that stormy 
February evening. In the group were her brother 
and Ned Longley. 

“And we hunted up Susie Codman,” she went on. 
“ Susie never objects to a lark. And Grace, poor 
child, we pulled up from her German translations 
which she was happy over. Then we masqueraded 
as the * Four Seasons ’ ; and by the time we were 
through borrowing what we lacked for our rigs, every 
girl in the house was ready to be up to something. 
Then ten o’clock arrived without an invitation and 
by lightning express that night, and we had to be 
QUIET ! And we were supposed to be in bed. After 
the Seasons had paraded, came the Nine Muses. For 
no 


Ill 


WINTER WORK AND PLAY 

by this time we had a number of recruits, and by no 
means raw ones. We did the Muses finely — I wish 
you’d seen them.” She laughed, glancing at her brother 
and at Grace. “ Calliope’s stylus was the poker; it 
had to be large enough to be seen, and then as she 
banged it, it suited her oration on the motor-car; she 
chose something up-to-date, you see, and expressing 
the poetry of motion, especially when it chugged. 
Happily, this came before the fateful hour of ten.” 

“Who was Calliope?” questioned Ned. 

“ Why, I was — just to start the ball. And then 
Grace took it. She walked on as demure as Clio her- 
self, and as she went examined one of our tennis balls 
to find a space to engrave the history of the world on 
it. With careful management the racket made an 
excellent lyre for Dia Chesterdown — I mean, Erato; 
and we rigged up her head with roses taken from our 
hats and fished up a little green that did for myrtle. 
Two of our motor-car masks decked out Thalia and 
Melpomene, and we used hatpins for the daggers — 
not bad that! Pell-Mell gathered a choir for Terp- 
sichore; and I didn’t know the child — I’m speaking of 
Pell-Mell, not Terpsichore — could dance so well. 
She took her banjo for a harp. It wasn’t dignified — * 
but it was effective.” 

“ We were all of us that,” said Grace with a smile. 

“Yes, that we were, with our kimonos draped to 
represent Grecian attire,” finished Pell-Mell. “You 
should have heard Euterpe with a comb for a flute 
singing her lyric poem made up for the occasion. 
Susie Codman is ready for anything, and up to it, 


ii 2 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


too. Anyway, we waked up the house. They voted 
to have us do it again. But Dorothy suggested that 
now it would be their turn to wake us up. So we live 
in expectation.” 

“An explanation I’m sure won’t be disappointed,” 
said Dorothy. 

In the midst of the talk and laughter, Mr. Bridges 
[was announced. 

His entrance made a diversion and sobered the 
happy look upon Longley’s face. He wondered how 
often the fellow had taken to coming to see Dorothy? 
She greeted him cordially, Ned noticed, as if she liked 
to have him come. Bridges seemed to enjoy the group 
about her; but Ned knew better. The more he thought 
about Charley Bridges, the less happy he was, and the 
worst of it was that he couldn’t help thinking about 
him. 

Bridges announced to Dorothy the engagement of 
his sister Flora and Mr. Windom, both of whom had 
been at Mount Rest with her the previous summer. 
Dorothy’s congratulations were hearty. As she told 
Grace and Priscy later, that engagement saved two 
victims, the two who would otherwise have been en- 
gaged to Flora Bridges and to Mr. Windom. 

Dorothy had never worked so hard as she did that 
winter. The second thesis that she handed in was 
even better than her first. 

But no matter how hard she worked, she always had 
odds and ends of time for play; and the harder she 
worked, the more she needed and relished the play. It 


WINTER WORK AND PLAY 113 

was a hopeful outlook for her success in life that she 
had discovered this early. The girls were not slow 
in finding out her faculty for fun, and in appreciating 
it. It was when the second set of theses had been re- 
turned, Miss Chesterdown’s marked high and that of 
the sophomore who had never been a freshman 
marked almost, not quite, as low as her first thesis, 
that several girls stood commenting on their returned 
papers. They did not know Dorothy’s rank, only that 
it was low; and this fact had been discovered in some 
way known only to those to whom in a mysterious 
manner the latest news is always revealed. 

“ I can’t help what her thesis is marked, nor her 
rank anyway, she’s bright enough,” said Clara Mor- 
ton. “ But one thing I do know — for sheer, clear fun, 
just bubbling-over, mirth-provoking fun, sweeping 
you up into it and making you have a good time, I 
never saw the equal of Dorothy Brooke. Dia isn’t in 
it with her. Dia can make fun of people and say 
bright things. But Dorothy sees funny situations, 
and if she does laugh at people sometimes, you like 
them just as well afterwards; she’s only droll, she has 
no malice. And then she gets up amusements out of 
things nobody else would think of.” 

“ I say Dorothy Brooke is a good child, if she 
doesn’t write good theses,” cried Susie Codman. “ And 
just look at her in basketball ! And there’s not an- 
other such skater in Ridgemore ! ” 

“ Oh, she does well enough,” retorted Mattie Win- 
ters, and turned to another subject. 

“ Mattie can’t bear not to have Dia perfect in every- 


1 14 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

thing,” laughed Susie. And Clara Morton went away 
smiling. She had found several points on which Dia 
Chesterdown was not perfection. 

Dorothy could not know that Professor Whitehall 
had made up his mind from the first thesis not to ex- 
pect much from her, and that again coming to her 
paper at the very end of his evening, he had glanced 
over this one so cursorily that he had only had time to 
discover that there did not seem to be the glaring fault 
which the first had had, and he had averaged it a 
trifle higher. Then he had smiled again in recalling 
the wit of Miss Chesterdown’s essay. She had talent 
as well as beauty; she was a favorite of fortune, he 
thought. 

But Dorothy had a compensation. She ran into 
Grace’s room one day a few weeks later with a letter 
in her hand. 

“Mr. Harris versus Professor Whitehall!” she 
cried. “ Only look at that, Graciosa ! ” And she held 
out a check and the letter accepting her story. “ He 
asked me to make a few revisions,” she said. “ And, 
of course, I was glad to do it. And now read his let- 
ter. Isn’t it kind? And they’ve paid me more than I 
expected. But then, it’s the glory, Grace, and the be- 
ing set up when I’d been put down so hard.” 

“ I’m so glad, I can’t say it ! ” cried the other look- 
ing at Dorothy with eyes bright with joy. And then 
a tear brimmed over. “ That was joy, too,” said 
Grace. 

The next minute Priscy came in, and Grace ex- 
claimed, “ Only guess the news, Pell-Mell ! ” 


WINTER WORK AND PLAY 


“5 

Priscy’s quick eye caught sight of the check lying 
open on the table, and her quick wit made out the rest. 

“Just your due, Dorothy!” she said exultantly. 
“ And now, you’ll beat the other man.” 

Dorothy laughed. 

“‘The other man’ — the professor?” she cried. 
“ I’ll do it.” And her mouth took on a firmness which 
gave her face a new distinction without destroying its 
beauty. 

“ That you will ! ” said Priscy. And Grace coming 
softly behind Dorothy, put up her arms and drawing 
the beaming face down to her own, kissed it. 

The other returned the caress with interest. “Just 
think of the time I believed you were tired of me!” 
she said. “ Wasn’t I a goose? ” 

“ Indeed, you were,” answered Grace. “ But I was 
as bad.” 

“ No wonder you sigh at being as bad as I am ! ” re- 
torted Dorothy. 

In her classes in English, and in languages, Doro- 
thy was already fully Dia Chesterdown’s equal; but 
it was neck and neck in the race; she had not sur- 
passed her. Dia was keen and clever, and to keep even 
with her had been thus far all that Dorothy could do. 
But she believed that her day was coming; for al- 
though Dia’s memory and adaptability were remark- 
able, her reasoning powers were only moderate, while 
here Dorothy was strong. But the theses persistently 
kept down her rank. 

Gymnastics, basketball, skating, long walks with 
some of the girls, afternoon teas, impromptu suppers, 


ii 6 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

fudge parties, candy pulls, now and then a play, a 
masquerade of some of Shakespeare’s characters in 
burlesque in return for Dorothy’s procession of the 
Seasons and the Muses, a few dances by the girls and 
with only girls present were some of the incidents 
which kept college life from being dull. 

Dorothy was getting fond of Kitty Hyde. At first 
she had liked her on account of the girl’s brightness, 
and then because she was so lonely ; for she had heard 
Rose’s account of the day in the studio. Dorothy was 
gentle and thoughtful with her in many ways, and the 
hours that Kitty spent in her presence awoke not only 
the girl’s best ambitions, but the nobler side of her 
nature, and led her to think more of things worthy of 
thought and interest. 

The play writing still went on. For busy as both 
students were, they would find a little time for this; 
and the trend of the studies at the college helped them. 

It was a day early in March that Ned and Rex hav- 
ing run over for a sight of their respective sisters — 
and perhaps a glimpse of other sisters — while waiting 
at the door for admission, saw approaching the some- 
what short, stout figure of a young man who walked 
well and briskly and whose good-humored, intelligent 
face they speedily recognized. Ned muttered an ex- 
clamation under his breath. 

44 What did you say ? ” asked Rex alertly. 

44 Nothing, nothing/ 4 returned Ned. 

44 1 heard you,” laughed the other. 44 ’Twas some- 
thing about that 4 everlasting Bridges.’ ” 

44 Oh, he doesn’t last so very long, if you go from 


WINTER WORK. AND PLAY 117 

his feet up!” retorted Ned in an undertone; for the 
subject of their comment was now -within hearing dis- 
tance. Ned greeted him courteously with a touch of 
stiffness he tried hard to subdue, and Rex beamed with 
secret amusement. He did not take matters seriously; 
to him rivalry was sport, and with all his heart he 
loved sport. 

The three young men entered together; and Ned 
added a request for Miss Pell to that for Dorothy and 
Grace. 

Priscy came down with a demureness that did credit 
to her self-control; and the conversation which two 
of the young men had desired to be individual became, 
general. 

Rex in the midst of his lively talk watched his sis- 
ter with amusement and not a little curiosity. He cer- 
tainly had the deepest interest in her. But, as has 
been said, he had not come to taking matters so ser- 
iously as to find need for anxiety. 

An engagement to go over the lesson in philology 
with one of the men whose brains were not equal to 
his ambition carried Ned away reluctant. Rex with 
brotherly privilege outstaid Bridges, and with the de- 
parture of the latter, Grace and Pell-Mell departed 
also, leaving Dorothy to Rex. After a few minutes 
of desultory talk, he took his opportunity. 

“That Bridges is a good fellow, Doro,” he began 
tentatively. “ He’s not brilliant, of course, except in 
making money where I suspect he is his father’s son. 
But he’s very wide-awake. Don’t you think so? 
How do you like him? ” 


ii8 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


“ Oh, very much indeed ! ” assured the girl. “ He’s 
thoroughly nice, Rex. He was as kind to me when he 
thought me a typewriter girl as if I’d been a princess 
r — no more than he should have been, of course; but 
then, everybody isn’t. Indeed, he shied off when he 
found that his mother had made a mistake.” 

Rex laughed. “ Rather disappointed, wasn’t he, 
that you were not the little typewriter, eh, Doro?” 

“ He didn’t tell me so,” returned the girl, her lips 
grave, but the fun in her eyes. 

“ Oh, yes, I see. You’re the girl that has to have 
things made as big as a barn door before she can see 
them.” 

And now Dorothy laughed out. “ Bigger, Rex ! ” 
she cried. 

“ But you really think Charley Bridges very nice? ” 
he persisted gravely. 

“ Indeed, I do, Rex,” she answered with equal 
earnestness. 

And Rex went away knowing no more about the 
matter than he had done before. 

When the portrait of Kitty Hyde under the title 
of “ Girlhood Dreams,” was on exhibition, Dia Ches- 
terdown went one day with Kitty to look at it. 

After a long, silent stare at the portrait, she turned 
to her companion in a fury. 

“ It’s plain why you didn’t care to have me come 
here!” she cried. “ How dared you? How dared 
she do it? ” 


WINTER WORK AND PLAY 


119 

“Do what?” asked the other smiling with a cool- 
ness which Dia for all her assumption of dignity 
would often have been glad to emulate. 

“ That touch of me,” said Dia lowering her voice. 
“ I don’t see how she dared,” she repeated. 

“You think Mr. Chesterdown will be so angry?” 
asked Kitty. 

“ I know he will be raging. And so do you. How 
did she dare? ” 

“ I guess it just happened. I don’t think she did it 
on purpose. I don’t think she knows it now,” re- 
turned Kitty, a smile hovering on her lips as she 
looked full at the angry, troubled girl. It was de- 
lightful to her to tease Dia. 

“Did you notice it?” persisted the other. 

Kitty nodded. “ But of all that have seen it Tve 
only heard two speak of it at all; and they only 
thought it was queer, and then went on talking of 
what a good picture it was. It takes,” she added with 
an air of triumph. 

“ If it’s ever so little like me, it must,” returned Dia 
nettled. 

Kitty said nothing. 

“You’ll have to tell her about it, and have it 
altered,” pursued Dia. 

This time Kitty laughed. 

“ The idea ! When it’s hung ! ” she cried. “ Come 
on,” she added the next moment. “ I’m tired of this 
stuff and nonsense. There’s nothing to worry about. 
Come on.” And she walked toward the door, fol- 


120 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


lowed by Dia repeating her command that Miss Hewes 
should be made to touch up the portrait, and obliter- 
ate the likeness. 

But Kitty said nothing to Rose. It was Dorothy 
who pointed out to her the elusive likeness. 

“ I never took the least tint or expression from 
Miss Chesterdown,” asserted Rose warmly. “ Kitty 
is far finer.” 


XIII 


A CHASE IN THE NIGHT 

What a time they had that April evening! 

First, there had been a large reception given by the 
dean at which everybody wore her best clothes and 
assumed her most dignified manners. When this was 
over, and the girls in the Mansion House, the dormi- 
tory in which were Dorothy and her friends, had 
donned their kimonos and were walking about the 
halls talking it over, Susie Codman declared that she 
was so stiffened up that nothing but a candy scrape 
would limber her for the next day. 

“ Come into my room and make some fudge,” she 
said to a few of the girls on her hall. And they 
assented with acclaim. 

They did not begin operations until nearly the hour 
when the house was ordered to be quiet and they were 
expected to be in bed. So that the exciting pleasure 
of whispering and constantly checking one another's 
louder tones added to the fun of the occasion. 

“What’s the matter with your skillet, Susie?” 
asked Clara Morton peering into it as it stood on the 
little oil stove which Priscy declared the most valu- 
able piece of furniture on the floor. 

“What’s the matter with you, I should say?” re- 
torted Susie pulling her back. “ With all our modern 
121 


122 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


miracles we’ve not arrived at the point when sugar 
won’t take a little time to boil.” 

“ Hear ! hear ! ” cried Priscy. And while they were 
waiting, she and Dora Wilson began to try a new 
waltz in the small room, and in their enthusiasm would 
have knocked over fudge — to be — oil stove and all, if 
Dorothy had not sprung forward, seized Priscy by the 
waist, and flung her and Dora into the corner, where 
they hit the wall with a thump. 

“ I hope I didn’t hurt you, Pell-Mell,” she cried. 
“ But, on the whole, I don’t care if I did. Do you 
want to set the house on fire, and yourselves, too? 
I’ve had enough of putting out fires, for one year at 
least.” 

“ Yes, you must stop that, girls,” said Susie. “ Or 
I’ll put you both out and lock the door.” 

“ The door is locked already,” reminded Pell-Mell. 
But the waltzers subsided, and there came a pause in 
which the company watched the sugar which would 
not boil. 

“ I wish you wouldn’t all keep going and taking 
peeps,” expostulated Susie. “ The oftener you pull 
the cover off, the longer time the thing will take to 
boil. Dora Wilson, don’t you know enough chemistry 
for that?” 

“ But isn’t that better than waltzing?” suggested 
Grace. “ She had to do something, she’s so ex- 
cited.” 

“ Stand up in the corner then, and go through some 
gym exercises,” demanded Priscy cruelly. 

“ Too loud, Pell-Mell,” reminded Dorothy. 


A CHASE IN THE NIGHT 


I2 3 


“ It boils ! It boils ! ” announced Dia clapping her 
hands softly. “ How long does it have to boil, Susie? 
I forget. I’m awfully hungry.’' 

“ You feel like the little boy,” laughed Dora. “ When 
they asked him at table if he’d have some more, he 
said, ‘ More what? ’ ” 

Dia shrugged her shoulders contemptuously; and 
Dorothy smiled as she looked at her. Miss Chester- 
down always expected to be treated with respect, even 
when one was in fun. 

“Boiling! Boiling!” announced Susie in an exult- 
ant whisper. “ Now butter the pan and be ready, Dia. 
Do something to make yourself useful.” 

“ I don’t like to get my fingers all over butter,” said 
the girl drawing back from the work. 

“ Let me,” said Dorothy. “ I just love buttered 
fingers, so I can suck them ! ” And in the titter that 
followed, she made ready the pan as deftly as Bella, 
the cook at Brookehurst, who had taught her would 
have done. 

“Oh, how good it looks! Num! num! num!” ex- 
claimed Dia approaching and watching Susie as the 
latter poured the boiling mass into the pan. This was 
then set on the window ledge between window and 
blind to cool, which as the temperature was that of an 
average April evening, it was some time in doing. 
Meanwhile the girls sat about, and told ghost stories. 

“ Oh, of course, it won’t get very hard in the time 
we can wait. I’m sleepy; I want to go to bed. Let’s 
have it now,” said Dia. 

“Little girl shall go to bed if it wants to,” said 


124 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

Pell-Mell with gravity, and unlocking the door, she 
held it open for Dia. 

But that young lady turned her back upon it angrily 
and muttered that she wished Miss Pell would mind 
her own business. 

“ I was trying to be accommodating,” returned 
Priscy in a meek voice, but with dancing eyes. 

“ I guess it’s getting about right by this time,” de- 
clared Dora. “ I’ll interview it.” And she ran to the 
window which she threw up wider with a jerk and 
put out her head. Her hand hit the blind which Susie 
had carefully arranged to support the pan of fudge. 
The blind swung open. 

“Oh! oh!” cried Dora, and made a wild clutch at 
the pan. But with a lurch and a scrape, it slid off the 
window-sill and launched itself into the air, and in 
another moment landed on the ground a few feet from 
the house. 

Dora was pulled back by angry hands, and heads 
pushed themselves out of the window to view the mis- 
chief wrought. 

“It’s turned clean over upside down in the mud!” 
wailed Susie. “ There’s no chance of our getting a 
single bite of it — oh, dear! Why didn’t you let it 
alone, Dora? ” 

“I’ve a good mind to send you after it!” cried 
Priscy laughing, though her eyes flashed. 

“You’re the clumsiest thing, Dora Wilson!” 
snapped Dia, her face red with anger. “I shouldn’t 
think you’d refuse to take gymnastics. There never 
was anybody needed them more.” 


A CHASE IN THE NIGHT 


125 


“ Oh, don’t scold! ” pleaded Susie. “ She’s lost her 
own share, too. The worst of it is, we shall have to 
go fudgeless to bed.” 

“All this tiresome waiting for nothing!” said Dia 
petulantly. “ Well, good night.” And she turned to- 
ward the door. “ I hope you’ll dream of tumbling out 
of the window, Dora.” 

There was a general movement toward the door, 
when Dorothy cried suddenly : 

“ Oh, I forgot. Wait for me, girls. Don’t one of 
you go until I come back.” And she opened the door 
and slipped along the lighted hall to her own room. 

“ I wonder what she’s up to now ? ” said Dia linger- 
ing with the others. 

“ I’m so glad I remembered,” said Dorothy coming 
back in haste. “ I bought a box of chocolates in town 
yesterday. They’re not equal to Susie’s fudge; hers 
is the best I ever ate. But perhaps they’ll help to fill 
a much needed want,” she laughed as she tore off the 
paper and passed the box around the lugubrious circle. 

“Have you found out what she’s up to?” asked 
Susie Codman in an undertone of Dia who had no 
scruples as to helping herself from Dorothy’s box. 

As the girls munched the delicious chocolates, 
smiles returned. 

“ The ‘ much needed want * has been filled,” an- 
nounced Pell-Mell. “ And I think I’ll say good night 
before it’s overfilled.” 

And she departed, soon followed by the others. 

When Dorothy returned to her room she was too 


126 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


wide-awake to go to bed at once. She took up her 
next morning’s lesson. 

But she could not study. Her thoughts trailed off 
to things of more interest to her than the printed page 
before her. Remembering the narrow escape from a 
fire in Susie’s room shortly before, there came back to 
her the scene at Mount Rest the previous summer 
when she had been in such danger of being burned to 
death, and Whistler’s warning and Mr. Bridges’ 
quickness had saved her. As she sat in her room that 
night many scenes of the summer passed through her 
mind, the episodes in the Dwight family, Mrs. 
Bridges’s scornful comments, Flora’s impertinences, 
Mr. Windom’s superciliousness, Mr. Harris’ charm 
and helpfulness, Miss Leslie’s beauty of face and char- 
acter, and Mr. Bridges’ unvarying kindness — and 
then the coming of Grace and Ned and the sweeping 
away of the misunderstanding with them, like a cloud 
from the sky of her life, which had been a heavy cloud 
while it lay upon her. 

As the minutes went by, her thoughts began more 
and more to drift, to turn into vagaries, and she was 
upon the verge of dreamland, when a sound in the hall 
aroused her. 

It was a step, quiet, yet not stealthy. Dorothy 
sprang to her door, opened it and looked out into the 
hall. It was dark there now, and not until the figure 
moving slowly toward her came within range of her 
light did she see that it was Dia Chesterdown. 

What was she doing? Where was she going? Not 
out of doors surely in that guise? She still had on 


A CHASE IN THE NIGHT 


127 


her kimono, and over it was hanging rather than 
thrown on, her ulster, its sleeves dangling. She wore 
no hat, and on her feet were her bedroom slippers, 
mere dainty concoctions of kid and of ribbon bows. 

“ What can she be doing? ” thought Dorothy. “ She 
would never go into the street in such a rig — and at 
this hour.” For it was still night. In another mo- 
ment, however, Dorothy perceived that Dia’s eyes 
which were wide open saw nothing. Then she under- 
stood. The girl was walking in her sleep. That she 
was not in her night gown was probably accounted for 
by the fact that coming from Susie’s room tired and 
sleepy, she had thrown herself upon the bed for a nap 
before undressing and had pulled her ulster over her 
because it had happened to be at hand and she had 
felt cold. Then the troubled dreams that she had 
wished to Dora Wilson must have come to herself. 
She had evidently risen in one. 

Dorothy asked herself more and more anxiously 
where this sleeper was going? What was the girl 
about to do? She was muttering softly, but it seemed 
angrily; and she appeared to have some design, Doro- 
thy thought as she watched her. Stories of sleep- 
walking and of the injuries that had come to the 
walkers rushed over the girl as Dia passed her mov- 
ing slowly toward the stairs, still talking to herself as 
she went. There was no time to arouse the house; 
and if she did so, that would arouse Dia also, which 
might be fatal to her. For the same reason she dared 
not try to stop her. There was but one thing to do — 
follow her and see that nothing bad happened to her. 


128 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


She tore off her slippers, thrust her feet into shoes 
she did not wait to button, threw on a skirt over her 
kimono and over this her ulster, caught a hat from its 
nail, and put it on as she went, and so ran softly af- 
ter Dia who, still talking to herself, was already open- 
ing the front door. Dorothy dared not stop her, fear- 
ing the result of awakening her. 

But she realized that she must have help; and in the 
hall downstairs she caught up the telephone. If she 
could only get Rex ! Would the porter wake and rouse 
him? She must try. 

She succeeded. 

“ What under heaven, Doro, do you want of me at 
this hour? ” called a sleepy voice. 

“Come this instant, Rex; don’t stop to question. 
I’m leaving the house immediately, following some- 
body, I don’t know where. We’re going out by the 
great door. Find us and come with us. It’s life and 
death, Rex.” 

“ Perfect witch of mysteries! Yes, I’ll come.” 

Dorothy hung up the receiver and darted out to fol- 
low Dia. She saw her already at a distance and hast- 
ened after her, turning about and listening for the 
quick steps of her brother who was sure not to leave 
her alone at that time of night. 

“Well! Of all things, Doro!” called a voice be- 
hind her; and Rex came up, breathing fast from his 
haste. “ What does it mean? ” 

“There’s Dia walking in her sleep,” said Dorothy 
softly. “ We must keep pretty close to her.” And in 
an undertone she gave him the details. 

He looked at her admiringly. Not many girls, he 


A CHASE IN THE NIGHT 129 

thought, would have had the quickness and courage to 
do what she was doing. And he said so. 

“ Not every girl has a brother at hand to help,” she 
answered smiling up at him. 

“What is she saying? ” he asked turning to Doro- 
thy as Dia’s muttering still went on. 

“ I only caught the word ‘ Kitty ’,” she answered. 

“ If we could find out,” he returned, “ it might help 
us as to what vagary she has in her head. Can’t you 
catch something more. Let’s try.” 

They crept nearer. 

Dorothy shivered, and caught Rex’s hand. 

“ She’s holding a penknife,” she whispered. “ She’s 
talking about that portrait of Kitty that Rose painted. 
She’s angry about it, for some reason. I think she 
wants to get at it now and cut it to pieces. Kitty told 
me she said the picture looked like her, and she wanted 
Rose to alter it.” 

“ Does it?” 

“ Yes, a very little, I think. But nobody seems to 
have noticed it. And what matter, anyway?” 

“ She’s bent on destruction to something,” said Rex 
after a few moments of watching her. “ See her 
striking out with that penknife. She is making passes, 
as if she were slashing something. I guess you’re 
right, Doro. Take care!” he said pulling her back 
as Dia suddenly whirled herself about “ I hope she’s 
going home now.” 

But instead, she turned again and went on. The 
streets were almost deserted, and the three walked for 
quite a distance. 

“ Only see,” said Dorothy with a sob in her voice, 


130 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“ her slippers are completely worn out now. Her poor 
little feet are all but on the ground. Can’t we do 
something? ” 

“ Poor child ! ” assented Rex. “ She must have 
been tremendously worked up about it, to have got 
into this state. Why should she care? She ought to 
be flattered. It’s a fine picture, anyway.” 

“ I think for some reason she’s afraid of her 
father,” said Dorothy. “ And I suspect Kitty teases 
her a bit.” 

Dia was growing more excited, and her watchers 
more anxious for her. “If we should meet some 
idiot of a policeman, and he should wake her,” 
thought Rex, “ it would be bad — very bad.” But he 
did not tell his fears to his sister. 

“ See ! ” cried Dorothy. “ She’s throwing out her 
hand more and more. Perhaps she’s dreaming that 
she is cutting up the picture, and then wil lturn around. 
If only we could get her home before she wakes.” 

“ Cut ! and cut ! and cut ! ” said Dia’s voice strange 
and muffled. Then she said a few words indistinctly. 
And then again they heard her. “ I must not leave 
a shred of it,” she said. “ And I won’t.” And 
the slashings grew more violent. “ He’d be so an- 
gry,” they heard her say. “ He told me I must not — 
speak — to ” 

The voice dropped again and the listeners could 
catch only an occasional word. But her motions con- 
tinued more decided, the penknife waving up and 
down from right to left again, as Rex had described 
it. In this motion she drew nearer and nearer to 
the wall of a building which they were passing, and 
finally struck her hand sharply against it. 


XIV 


ON THE RIVER 

“ Rex ! ” cried Dorothy under her breath, “ it has 
wakened her!” 

For Dia had stopped speaking and moving. She 
stood a moment; then she turned. Her opened eyes 
had expression now. She looked about her wildly. 

“ Where am I? What has happened?” she cried 
in a terror that set her shaking like an ague fit. 

Dorothy ran to her and folding her arms about her, 
said in a voice soothing as a lullaby: 

“Here we are, Dia. You’re all right.” And she 
drew the frightened girl close. “You were asleep, 
dear child. But we followed you. And now we’ll 
go straight home.” And she turned the other toward 
the college dormitory. In her pity and her anxiety 
she had forgotten that she disliked Dia. 

The other, however, now fully aroused, remembered 
it as she listened to the account of how Dorothy and 
her brother had come to be with her when she awoke. 

To Rex her thanks seemed perfunctory. She com- 
plained of the stones which in her sleep she had not 
heeded cutting her feet, and grumbled over the very 
hardships that they were sharing with her. But she 
pressed on eagerly; for the dawn was breaking as Rex 
left them at the door of the Mansion House. She 
131 


132 DOROTHY BROOKE AT. RIDGEMORE 

stopped him as he was about to turn away, and for 
an instant looked at him earnestly. 

“ You’ll not speak of this to anyone? ” she implored. 

He looked back at her in surprise at the suggestion. 

“ Never, never, Miss Chesterdown,” he said. “ I 
shall forget all about it. And you must, too. You 
were overtired ; that was all. Such a thing will never 
happen to you again.” 

“ It ought to be cut to pieces, just as in my dream,” 
said Dia more to herself than to Dorothy as she 
passed into her own room, still dwelling upon the 
picture. 

Dorothy could not help wishing that Rex might 
know how Dia had asked her the very evening of 
that eventful day if she were sure that her brother 
would never speak to anyone of that accident, as 
she called it. And she had added that it was so easy 
for people to say just a word and let things out. * 

“ That depends upon who the people are,” Dorothy 
had returned coldly. “ My brother is not one of 
those.” 

“ I know you won’t say it, because you promised,” 
returned Dia half apologetically. 

Dorothy made no answer; it was not necessary to 
promise a second time. She could not tell Rex of this 
distrust of Dia’s, for the very reason that she wanted 
so much to have him know it. 

“ What do you say to a spin over to Hosmer Hall 
to-morrow?” asked Rex the following month. 

“ Oh, Rex ! ” she cried, “ how perfectly lovely ! I 


ON THE RIVER 


133 

ought not to go — to take the time. But I will, if 
they’ll let me.” 

“ I suppose you’ll hardly need a chaperon when 
you go with your brother. Shall I have to be identi- 
fied?” he said, eyeing her humorously. 

The following morning found them in excellent 
season well on the way to visit the school that Doro- 
thy still loved so well, and the girl she so much missed 
in her college life. 

“ How surprised Lulu will be to see us,” she said 
as they bowled along. 

Her brother hesitated the least moment. Then he 
said: “ I telephoned her we were coming. We can’t 
stay long, you know; and I was afraid she might be 
off somewhere and you’d miss seeing her. You’d 
never get over that, Doro — eh?” 

“ No,” said the girl. “And how about you?” 

Rex laughed without answering. And Dorothy 
was silent also, pondering a certain matter. So, Rex 
had telephoned to Lulu? Was it for the first time? 
Could she guess now where he had been that day of 
his unexplained absence? She glanced at him sud- 
denly and keenly; but she was too wise to ask him. 
If he wished her to know, he would tell her. Or it 
was possible that she might learn without asking. 

“Hosmer Hall, or Ridgemore College, Doro?” he 
questioned the next minute. 

“ Both,” she laughed. “ My heart goes out to 
Hosmer Hall. But my head approves the college. 
And some of the girls there, and of those in charge, 
and the professors are very likable.” 


134 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“ But, except Grace and Pell-Mell, none equal to 
Lulu — eh, Doro ? ” 

“ Is that what you think? ” she asked incisively, her 
mind on Dia Chesterdown. 

He laughed. “ Oh, I’m deep. You mustn’t expect 
to fathom my thoughts,” he retorted. 

“ Should I ask you if I were fathoming them?” 

Again he laughed. “ The misery of having a log- 
ical sister, Doro ! ” 

They began to talk of college matters in which both 
were interested. 

The day at Hosmer Hall was a great success; 
Dorothy voted that it had been perfect. From the 
greeting of Mrs. Claflin and the dear professor, and 
the teachers and pupils who in the recess crowded 
about her as eagerly as ever, and the hours with 
Lulu, and the luncheon at Mrs. Claflin’s house, and 
the few words with the professor about her studies 
and her theses, his evident surprise at their low rank 
and assurance that, later, this would come right, the 
warm hug from Mabel White as she said, “ Dear 
Dorothy, Grace told me you had forgiven me,” and 
the tears of joy in Mabel’s eyes at Dorothy’s return 
of the greeting and her assurance — everything had 
made her happy. 

“ Do tell me what Mrs. Claflin said when she saw 
you?” questioned Priscy as she and Grace sat listen- 
ing to the account. 

“ She smiled at me and said, ‘ We’ve not filled your 
place, Miss Brooke.’ ” 

“ I think not ! ” murmured Grace. 


ON THE RIVER 


i35 


“And what did you answer?” persisted Priscy. 

“ Oh, Pell-Mell, I said she must have had a dearth 
of trying girls.” 

“Just like your sauciness!” 

“ Nobody was offended.” 

It was while this day with its delights was fresh in 
Dorothy's mind that Dia Chesterdown asked a favor 
of her. Since the night of the sleep walking Dia 
had been more or less attentive to Dorothy and had 
seemed to seek an intimacy which the latter by no 
means desired, and as intimacy requires the consent 
of two, Dia had not arrived at it. But she had been 
persistent enough to arouse the wonder of some of 
her class, and the suspicion of Kitty Hyde. Dia, 
however, had no deep purpose. She believed that 
Dorothy, as everyone else, must be flattered by her 
notice, and that if she kept on the good side of the 
girl, the story of the night escapade would never come 
out. Not for the world would she have had Kitty 
know it. And she blessed the cleverness of Dorothy 
who, in all her haste that night, had stopped to put 
up the spring of the Yale lock of the front door, so 
that they had been able to re-enter the house without 
ringing. It was luck unparalleled, Dia thought, that 
nobody had heard them. 

“Will you do something ever so kind for me?” 
Dia asked her that beautiful morning of late May. 
“Will you take me out canoeing? Of course, some 
of the fellows will take me out any day, and be glad 
to do it,” she went on as Dorothy looked at her in 


136 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

surprise. “ And they’ll come days I don’t want to go, 
and if I keep refusing them, or if I refuse one and 
then go with another, why, it makes things hot for 
somebody — don’t you see ? ” 

“ Yes, I see,” returned the other, who perceived 
that Dia was airing the number and importunity of 
her admirers. “ But you can always say you’re busy. 
And it’s always true here, if one wants it so.” 

“ But I’m not a bit too busy,” laughed Dia, “ to go 
canoeing with a girl who knows how to manage a 
canoe.” 

Dorothy could not deny that she did know this. 
“But it’s too early in the season,” she objected. 

“The river is opened to canoeing,” retorted Dia; 
“ and this day must have been shaken out of the June 
schedule by mistake. Do try it this afternoon, Miss 
Brooke. You’re safe and you’re skillful, your 
brother says. He ought to know.” 

“Yes, he ought; for he taught me,” returned Doro- 
thy. “Yes, I’ll go, if you wish it so much; and if 
you’ll trust me.” 

Dia did not know what her reference to Rex had 
done for her. For it came to Dorothy that if she 
should refuse to take the girl out, Dia might appeal 
to Rex, who would not refuse. And if it must be 
done, why not that afternoon, and have it over with? 

Dia was delighted. The two met at the place and 
time appointed. For there was a ride of several 
miles by trolley car to be taken before they reached 
the boathouse at which Rex’s canoe was stored, and 
from which the canoes usually started. She had 
wanted to tell Grace and Priscy where she was going; 


ON THE RIVER 


137 

but she had not had time. It had taken quite a while 
to get Rex by telephone and ask to borrow the boat; 
and when she had started, both the other girls were 
at classes. 

Dia leaned back in the canoe and watched Dorothy’s 
deft strokes in smiling security. She talked languidly, 
perceiving that her companion was too much occupied 
with her paddle to require diversion; and for Dia to 
sit at her ease and watch the other’s skillful manipula- 
tions was occupation and amusement enough. She 
knew well how to work; but she enjoyed being idle 
when she lost nothing by it. 

So the two went on for an hour, up the rippling 
water, past shores bright with the exquisite foliage of 
spring where the soft greens and yellows and reds of 
the budding trees had but just given place to richer 
coloring, but not yet to the depth and fullness of the 
summer. Here and there as little dells ran up from 
the shore, the canoeists could catch glimpses of 
flowers. 

They had gone some distance up the winding river 
when Dia said that she was cool, she would throw 
her wrap about her. She was sitting upon it, and 
as she spoke, she looked down, as if to rise and draw 
it out. 

“ No ! no, Dia ! ” cried Dorothy. “ Don’t do that. 
Wait! I’ll run the canoe in shore, and then you can 
get your coat. It’s not safe to move now.” For not 
only was any motion dangerous in so slight a craft, 
but Dia was large and although not ponderous, solid. 
She was too well trained to be awkward, but there 
was no deftness about her. In getting her coat she 


138 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

would be sure to move the boat too much for safety. 
“ Wait ! ” said Dorothy again. And she began to 
paddle toward shore. 

“ Oh, nonsense, Dorothy ,' ” answered the other. 
“ Don’t bother. I’ll get it in a moment. It’s all 
right.” 

As she spoke, she rose; and when the first pull did 
not release the coat which she was still upon without 
knowing it, she gave it a jerk, and in doing so, stepped 
backward, lost her balance, uttered a cry and plunged 
wildly. 

The next instant the two girls were in the water. 

Dorothy clutched at the upturned canoe, while the 
paddle floated away. Then she looked for Dia. She 
had gone under. In a moment she would rise. She 
could not swim, she had never been willing to take 
lessons, declaring that she hated it. But Dorothy, a 
skillful swimmer, held on to the edge of the boat and 
searched the water for Dia. In a moment she saw 
her rise and struggling with all her might. 

“ Don’t struggle ! Keep still ! Float ! ” called Dor- 
othy. “ Keep your mouth shut ! ” 

But it was of no use. Dia would always do exactly 
as she pleased, and now she was too terrified to under- 
stand. Dorothy stretched out her arms as if to go 
to her. Yet she stood where she was in the water, 
her face white and drawn by some strong emotion; 
her feet motionless. Was she to let Dia drown before 
her eyes? The signs of stress in her face increased. 
But she still did not move, although now her feet 
swayed strongly in the water. 

“ Help ! Help ! ” called Dia, and sank again. 


XV 


ACCUSATION 

“There's not a particle of question about it. Fm 
as sure as that I’m standing here this moment,” as- 
serted Dia Chesterdovvn to a knot of college girls 
grouped on one of the walks a few days after the 
accident on the river. 

“I don’t believe it! You’re mistaken, I mean,” 
cried Susie Codman with decision. 

“ You think I’m mistaken just as you were mis- 
taken the other day,” mocked Dia. “ We can all re- 
member how you convinced Professor Rich in the 
chemistry lesson last week.” This was a hard thrust. 
For Susie had made an egregious error, and had stood 
by it until fairly driven out by an experiment made 
on her account. At this reminder of Dia’s the girls 
about Susie smiled considerately; she would rather 
have had them laugh outright, as she knew they 
wanted to do. 

“A mistake in chemistry is one thing; and a mis- 
take in character quite another,” she retorted. 
“There’s something you don’t understand, I say.” 

“And there is something I do,” returned Dia, her 
face flushing with anger at this opposition to her as- 
sertions. “There is one thing, girls, I want to call 
your attention to.” Here she made a pause which 
i39 


140 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

drew the eyes of every listener upon her. “ When 
did we last hand in our theses ?” she asked. 

“A week ago,” was the response of several. 

“What has that to do with it?” questioned Clara 
Morton, who always liked things made plain. 

“If you’ll forgive my seemingly conceited allusion; 
but it’s only to explain to Clara what I mean,” said 
Dia ; “ you may remember that my theses have usually 
stood fairly high.” 

“Yes; the first in the class; and we’re proud of 
it,” cried one of her hearers, and the assertion was 
echoed by the others. 

“ But everybody in the class is not proud of it,” 
returned Dia; and again she made a pause, while one 
girl looked at another in silent significance. “We’re 
all aware of the vaulting ambition of one member of 
our class,” continued the speaker, “ one member who 
did not enter by the gate of the freshman, but climbed 
over the wall and plunged into the midst of our set — 
without a very warm welcome.” No one answered; 
all stood looking at Dia. “ I happen* to know,” she 
went on, “ that twice that ambitious person has had a 
thesis — well, if we may allow ourselves to use slang, 
sent up chimney! Now a third set is just handed in 
from our class, and we’re waiting to see what the ver- 
dict will be this time. You must remember that this 
ambitious person is very vain of small literary honors 
received from — I suppose it won’t do to say from peo- 
ple who don’t know any better? But she believes. in 
them. And to understand the situation, we must real- 
ize she is anxiously waiting for what is to be said of 
thesis number three — of mine, and of hers.” 


ACCUSATION 


141 

“ But if she is,” persisted Clara; “ I don’t see how 
you hang the two things together.” 

“ Why,” sneered Dia, “ a convenient opportunity 
for ” 

At the moment Dorothy Brooke, going from her 
laboratory work to the college library, came across 
this group. As she approached, the animated talking 
stopped suddenly, and there fell a momentary silence 
as she passed the girls, bowing to them but not stop- 
ping to speak, for something in her work had puzzled 
her and she was on her way to look up an explana- 
tion if she could find it in books; if not, to ask it. 
Heads were turned to look after her as she passed on, 
unconscious of being the subject of their comments, 
and of Dia Chesterdown’s accusation. 

“ She doesn’t look it,” said Clara when Dorothy 
was out of hearing. 

“Of course, you know all about it. You were in 
the water at the time,” retorted Dia. “ You sank 
twice before she moved hand or foot to try to save 
you — she, the best swimmer in college, while I can’t 
swim a stroke. Now, if you don’t understand what 
that means, I do.” 

“ What does it mean ? ” asked Susie Codman. 

Dia gazed at her, and smiled superciliously. 

“ It means that the opportunity came and she 
wanted to take it.” The speaker paused. 

“What opportunity, Dia?” 

“The possibility that my thesis would never be 
ranked at all, and hers stand well for lack of one to 
outrank it. For, of course, she has climbed a little, 
and but for me she would soon stand at the head. 


142 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

That doesn’t offend you, girls? I’m only saying one 
truth to make another clear.” 

“ Which you’ve not done yet,” returned Susie. 
“ She did pull you out of the water, Dia. You said 
so yourself.” 

“ I’ve never said otherwise. But why was she so 
long about it, to make me believe I was going to 
drown before her eyes? Why did she wait until an- 
other boat was coming in sight before she tried to 
help me? Anybody who can may answer that ques- 
tion differently. But to me the answer is as plain as 
day. She didn’t make the opportunity to put me out 
of the way of her ambition; she told me to sit still, and 
I tipped over the canoe. But when I was in the 
water, she thought at first that I might as well stay 
there. I’m perfectly sure of it. Why, what else 
could it be that made her look on and never stir to 
help me? I can’t prove,” added Dia with show of 
magnanimity, “ that she wouldn’t have changed her 
mind if the boat had not come along. All I know 
is she changed it quick enough when it did. What- 
ever she would have done, what she did do — there’s 
not a doubt of it — was to debate with herself whether 
she would pull me out of the water at all? She might 
have decided it honestly; I don’t say ‘no.’ We’ll 
give her the benefit of the doubt by all means. But 
that the question came to her there’s not a shadow 
of doubt,” she repeated. “ It’s as clear to me as if 
I’d been inside her mind.” 

“ It’s a case of the mountain and the mole hill,” 
retorted Clara Morton as she walked away looking 
scornful. “ And it doesn’t do you credit, Dia.” 


ACCUSATION 


i43 


But in spite of the incredulity of a few, the sopho- 
more class in general, and even some of the other 
girls who heard the rumor against Dorothy, believed 
it. And this belief extended to a number of the offi- 
cers of the college who preferred not to discuss the 
subject, but shook their heads ominously and sighed, 
and glanced askance at Dorothy as she passed, and 
answered her briefly when she addressed them. In 
all this- was nothing outspoken; all was whispered 
comment and accusation. 

At first the girl was too busy, and too unconscious, 
to notice what was at best a slight withdrawal of 
greetings that had always been more or less indiffer- 
ent. There was, however, one exception. 

The dean never lost a certain reserve of manner 
which was natural to her. But of late her first cold- 
ness toward Dorothy had softened and at times she 
had seemed almost to like the girl. But one morn- 
ing, more than a week after the excursion upon the 
river, Dorothy went to her upon an errand. 

“ Good morning, Miss Brooke,” said the dean with 
a coldness beyond that of her first greeting. “ I am 
hurried this morning,” she added. “ Please make 
your business as brief as possible.” 

“ It was to make a request of you, madam,” said 
Dorothy, her eyes wide open, looking straight at 
the other and her manner as haughty as her position 
of pupil to principal permitted. “But if you are so 
much engaged, it might be better to defer it.” 

“Yes, Miss Brooke, I think it would,” returned 
the dean. 

Pale with astonishment and indignation, and with a 


144 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

stricture in her throat, Dorothy bowed without an- 
other word, and departed. The other looked after 
her with a question which she stifled at its birth. She 
had made no mistake. She had done the only thing 
possible to show her repulsion. 

Dorothy, her head higher than ever, her eyes flash- 
ing, her lips set, went straight to Susie Codman. 

“ Susie, what is the matter? ” she asked her without 
preface. “ Tell me.” 

The girl was alone in her room. She sprang up 
and threw her arms about Dorothy. 

“ Take no notice,” she said. “ It’s nothing — all 
nonsense. It will all go by. I don’t believe a word 
of it, Dorothy,” she added with a sob. “ What’s 
happened now?” And she drew back and looked at 
her. 

“ The dean has frozen me out. You don’t believe 
a word of what, Susie? You must tell me. Don’t 
you see, you have to ? Will you make me go to some- 
body else? If it’s a class matter, Grace or Priscy 
won’t know. Are you going to send me to a 
stranger? ” she asked, as the other still hesitated. 

And then Susie told her — told her the story in 
full. 

Dorothy stood and listened in silence, her eyes 
growing larger and shadows under them deepening, 
her face pale as marble. So she stood after Susie 
had finished. 

“ Oh, speak to me ! Say something, Dorothy dear ! 
You don’t know how you look.” 

“Do I look as if I’d been accused of murder?” 


ACCUSATION 


145 


Her eyes were cold, and in saying this she moved her 
lips little; they seemed stiff. Not a ray of color had 
come back into her face. 

“ Oh, Dorothy dear; now you know, do say some- 
thing. Do defend yourself. Do something.” 

“ If you think I need defense, I shall never defend 
myself to you, or anybody else,” answered the girl. 
Not another word could Susie draw from her. She 
turned away and left the room. 

When Susie recounted this interview, Dia asked 
scornfully, “And she didn’t deny it?” 

“ ‘ Deny it ’ ! Oh ! ” cried the other. But she 
found it impossible to explain Dorothy’s look and 
manner to the conviction of her hearers, all of them 
Dia’s satellites. 

Such a story could not fail to reach Dorothy’s dear 
friends, Grace and Priscy. Indeed, it was Susie her- 
self who told it to them, softening it as much as pos- 
sible, but herself finding it worse as she went on with 
the telling. 

Indignation at last mastered grief in her listeners. 

“ We mustn’t sit and blubber over it ! ” cried 
Priscy. “We must do something.” 

“ I’m going to tell Ned this very minute — that is, 
as soon as I can get at him,” said Grace. 

“ Yes, do,” cried the other girls. “ I would have 
told Mr. Brooke,” added Susie. “ But I wasn’t clear 
if it was the best thing to do.” 

“ Wait until we hear what Ned says about it,” 
counseled Grace. 

And this they decided to do. 


146 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

Longley met the story with a face not unlike Doro- 
thy’s in expression. But his resolve was far different. 
He would not talk the matter over with the girls — to 
their disappointment. 

“ I want to think it over first,” he said. “ But I 
can tell you this. I don’t intend any more than you 
do to let such a thing go by without a settlement. No, 
please don’t tell Brooke just at present. And please 
say as little as possible about it for a few days.” 

“No, we won’t. Only, we must try to comfort 
Dorothy a little,” said Grace. “ She’s going around 
as pale as death, and too haughty to speak.” 

“ He won’t forget about it? ” questioned Susie Cod- 
man when this report was brought to her. 

“ He’ll forget everything else first ! ” retorted his 
sister. 

“To comfort Dorothy a little!” he repeated when 
he was alone. Nothing seemed to him so well worth 
doing. This Grace was to do. For himself, it be- 
longed to him to set Dorothy free entirely from the 
wickedness that had woven its net about her. Yes, 
this must be his work. Rex should be told afterward. 

He had an appointment with her the following day, 
to go over parts of a new play together. 


XVI 

NED LONGLEY AND DOROTHY AT WORK 

The following morning the dean sat in her room. 
But she was not working. To the girls she always 
seemed more or less indifferent, and sometimes cold, 
seldom showing personal interest in them. But one 
object was very near to her; as regarded the welfare 
and progress of the college, she proved that she had a 
heart. Moreover, she was a woman with a high sense 
of honor, and, reserved as were her manners to the 
students, she wished well to them and desired in all 
things to be just to them. 

It was for this reason that that morning something 
came between her and the business at which she was so 
apt, and that something was the face of a girl, at 
first full of wonder, then dignified to haughtiness, 
pale with silent lips when speech would have relieved 
the dean, although she had herself cut off the possi- 
bility of it. What was this story about Dorothy 
Brooke? The girl had really not done anything 
wrong; she had rescued her companion. But she 
must have been tempted not to do it, and have begun 
to yield to the temptation, judging from Miss Chester- 
down's account, and Dia Chesterdown was a person 
upon whom the dean depended. Yet whatever had 
147 


0 


148 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

been the poor girl’s temptations which were repellent, 
it belonged to Miss Aylesford in her office to know 
what Miss Brooke as a student had needed in coming 
to her the previous day; indeed, she must know it. 
She touched her bell and sent for Miss Brooke. 

While Dorothy was coming, the dean tried to oc- 
cupy herself with a calculation that had interested 
her. But it would not go; her thoughts were else- 
where. 

As the door opened to admit Dorothy, Miss Ayles- 
ford looked at her. She was paler, more dignified, 
and as haughty as the courtesy due to the office of the 
dean permitted. The other could find no shrinking 
or evasion in her face. Still 

“ I was too much occupied yesterday to attend to 
your request, Miss Brooke,” she began; “ But now 
I should be glad to hear it.” 

“ I have no request to-day, madam.” 

The dean stared at her steadily. Why wouldn’t 
the girl say something more? Why wouldn’t she 
give her an opening? The dean was ready to hear 
the other side of the case. 

“ I am sorry if the opportunity has passed and it 
was anything of importance you desired,” she said 
tentatively. 

Silence. 

“Then there is nothing further?” 

“ No, Miss Aylesford,” said Dorothy, and bowing 
slightly, she turned to the door. She was halfway 
there when a voice arrested her. 

“Miss Brooke.” 


NED LONGLEY AND DOROTHY 149 

Dorothy turned back, and without a word stood 
looking at the speaker with an expression that the 
other met with a question. 

“ Do you know, Miss Brooke/’ she asked abruptly, 
“ that there is a strange rumor about you in circula- 
tion?” 

“ I have heard it,” returned the girl. 

“It is not true, Miss Brooke?” 

“I have no answer, Miss Aylesford.” 

“ It would be better if you had, Miss Brooke. 
Have you no defense, no explanation? You must 
have. I beg that you will speak.” 

“ No defense, madam.” 

“ Then it is ” began the dean ; but looking at 

Dorothy, stopped. “Good morning, Miss Brooke,” 
she added the next moment. 

Again Dorothy turned away in silence, and this 
time she was allowed to depart without recall. 

But the dean’s eyes followed her as she left the 
room. And for some time after she had gone, Miss 
Aylesford sat pondering a problem more difficult than 
any which lay upon her table. 

“She does not look guilty,” she said to herself 
after a few minutes. “But, then, why not speak? 

Why not say ? ” Again she sat silent. “ When 

it’s often impossible to read one’s own inner motives,” 
she murmured at last, “ how can one be expected to 
read another’s? I don’t see but that it must go on 
as it is. There’s not any public accusation; that 
Would be different; that would have to be taken up. 
But what is to be done here if the girl will not speak? 


150 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

I suppose, poor thing/’ she added, “ she really cannot 
speak, if even so much as the thought came to 
her.” 

And the dean turned back to her papers again. 

That same afternoon Ned Longley sat in the recep- 
tion room, waiting for Dorothy to keep her appoint- 
ment and go over with him the new play that the 
two were writing together. As he waited, he was 
thinking what a hard time she was having here, her 
theses unappreciated, her charm overswept by charms 
that seemed to him blatant beside hers — and now 
this! And yet she had never been more strong and 
worthy. And she had never written so well. He 
was grateful to Mr. Harris for acknowledging it. 
But how could the man have helped it with such a 
story? For she had told it to Ned. It was beautiful 
— like her, more tender, more pathetic, more thrilling 
than anything Ned himself could write. Yet, since 
she wanted him to try Mr. Harris, he would do it; 
but it would be in a totally different vein from hers. 
Imitations were not in his line. Nor were they in 
Dorothy’s. It was remarkable, he thought, for two 
persons, each with so much personality — or if he could 
say it without vanity, originality — to be able to work 
together as harmoniously as Dorothy and he did. 
And he believed that it prophesied success. 

Then she came in. 

As he rose to meet her, he looked at her with a 
distress that was almost consternation. Was this girl 
with such pallor, such quiet, such repression in every 


NED LONGLEY AND DOROTHY 151 

glance and movement, his wide-awake Dorothy with 
spirit in her every look and movement? 

But he choked back the words that rose to his lips, 
returned her quiet greeting as calmly as he could, and 
they began to go over together the manuscript that he 
had brought, and to compare it with the copy in Dor- 
othy’s hands which she had been at work upon by 
herself. But the suggestions and revisions which in 
general each was prompt in making, lagged that day. 
Ned as he looked at her cared nothing for the play, 
he cared only for Dorothy. And she also was full of 
heavy thoughts. He waited, not only for her to give 
him an opening for speech, but also for the room to 
be clear of others, as it sometimes was at that hour, 
and especially when the brilliant weather tempted out 
of doors, as it did that day. At last the student who 
had been reading one of the magazines with which the 
table was piled, closed it, laid it down and went out* 
Now they were alone, at least for the moment. 

But Dorothy did not speak of herself, and he be- 
lieved that she did not intend to do it. 

Suddenly, in the midst of a tentative criticism of 
some point in the play, his hand fell upon the manu- 
script, covering it, and she felt his other hand laid 
firmly upon her own. She looked up at him in sur- 
prise. 

“ Dorothy, put that thing away. What do I care 
for it, when you are so broken-hearted? What is the 
matter with you? Speak — I entreat you to speak,” 
he pleaded as she still looked at him in silence. “ But 
I know. You are being shamefully treated, and it is 


152 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

killing you. Yet you will not say one word to me 
to ask me to help you, when you know I am longing 
to do it more than anything else in the world.” 

“ Oh, Ned! ” she cried. And as she looked at him, 
the quick tears sprang to her eyes. “ If you speak 
to me like that, you’ll break me down. I only hold 
my own by being an< iceberg. Melt the iceberg, and 
there’ll be nothing left but a torrent of tears.” 

“ Poor little girl ! Dear little girl ! ” he said ten- 
derly. “ It will do you good to cry.” It was to be 
hoped that it would; for at last Dorothy was doing 
it freely. “As for me,” went on Ned, “I’m in a 
white rage.” 

She looked up suddenly, a smile like sunshine in 
her eyes. “You don’t believe that — trash?” she said 
watching him intently. 

“ Why, Dorothy, you must be a little 4 out/ to ask 
me such a question.” 

“ I know,” she said softly. “ But everybody seems 
to believe it. So, I thought ” 

“ No, you didn’t think it of me,” he asserted, look- 
ing at her with smiling lips, yet in his eyes a trouble 
at her state. “ Nor of Grace, nor Priscy,” he went 
on. “ Why didn’t you speak to them ? Why didn’t 
you speak to me, and tell me all about it? Why 
didn’t you, Dorothy?” 

“ How could I, Ned? ” she answered him. “ They 
said that at first I — They said I wanted to let Dia 
Chesterdown drown — that in my heart I was a mur- 
derer! How could I say such a thing? How could 
I? Oh, Ned!” 


i 



AS SHE LOOKED AT HIM, THE QUICK TEARS SPRANG 
TO HER EYES. 




































































































' 






























































































NED LONGLEY AND DOROTHY 153 

As he heard the touching plaint in her tones, as he 
looked at her, at the suffering in her eyes, the signs 
in her face of the stress through which she was pass- 
ing, as he heard the appeal of her quickly drawn 
breath of pain, the young man was well-nigh beside 
himself with love for her and longing to comfort her. 
He had much ado to keep from clasping her in his 
arms and pouring out to her the words that beat in 
his heart until they choked him. But he clenched his 
hands, he forced his eyes to turn away from her, and 
for a moment he held in leash his quick breath vibrat- 
ing with an emotion he must not utter now and in 
this place. After a moment of strained silence he 
said to her briskly: 

“ Perfect wickedness and folly, Dorothy ! ” Then 
as she looked up at him, he went on: “ But some folly 
is yours, too. You ought to have spoken to — us. 
Why was it so hard to do that? ” 

“ To tell my friends I hadn’t intended to murder 
anybody? It wasn’t necessary — was it?” And she 
looked at him keenly, then laughed, and in her laugh 
was somewhat of the strain through which she was 
passing. “ Folly not to defend myself against such 
a charge? ” she went on. “ I say it would have been 
worse to even pretend I needed defense against — that. 
Imagine the dear old professor and Mrs. Claflin, or 
any of the teachers there even listening to such a 
thing!” she broke out with a burst of her old spirit 
which delighted Ned. “ Why, they’d be more likely 
to turn out the girl who said it. But they don’t 
know me here as they did at Hosmer Hall,” she added 


154 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

with a sigh. “ This is somewhat like the world, I 
suppose, a very big place and one doesn’t get ac- 
quainted. No, Ned, I will never, never defend my- 
self. Let them say what they please — oh, what stu- 
pid, stupid people! Oh, how angry my father would 
be ! ” she went on. “ And I’m sure Rex doesn’t know, 
or I should have heard from him. I’m so glad he 
doesn’t.” 

“ But you’ve not told me about it,” he said the next 
moment. 

“Told you!” she cried. “What do you need to 
be assured of? ” And she looked at him suspiciously. 

He returned her look fully, and laughed. 

“ I’ve never heard anything except what the Ches- 
terdown young woman chose to say about your adven- 
ture,” he answered. 

Dorothy smiled. She was human enough to enjoy 
the phrase, the “ Chesterdown young woman.” 

“ Why should I say anything,” she asked again, 
“since you believe in me without it? I don’t want 
the thing talked about out loud ; it’s bad enough to 
have it whispered. How angry my father would be ! ” 
she said again. “ No, I don’t want the thing talked 
over, Ned. It must not be exploited,” she repeated. 
“ How the very thought of it hurts one’s pride,” she 
said under her breath. 

He reached out again and laid his hand over the 
little hand that he could see trembled. 

“ Dorothy,” he said very gravely, “ is it possible 
you don’t trust me enough to tell me all I want to 
know? What happened up there on the river? Do 


NED LONGLEY AND DOROTHY 155 

you put your pride between you and me whom — you 
know your real friend? ” And he looked full into her 
eyes. 

“ I know it,” she said. And as she looked back at 
him, she knew that she did trust absolutely, not his 
friendship alone, but his judgment. 

“What happened up there on the river?” he re- 
peated. “ I can help you. I must.” 

And he stroked her hand with a quietness that did 
credit to his self-control. 

“ Nothing that I could not have shouted to the 
world,” said the girl — “ until they began to say — 
that horrible thing! ” 

“ You needn’t assure me of that. But what was 
it?” 

“ Why, Ned, something caught my feet in the water 
at first, and I got free the instant I could, and went 
to Dia. I couldn’t move at first; she was right in 
saying I didn’t. There is the root of a tree, or per- 
haps a rope, under the water in that place, and my 
feet — both of them — were caught in the tangle. One 
came out easily ; but I had to tug and tug at the other. 
I did get frightened myself for fear she would drown. 
I was going to explain to her at once about it. But 
after Mr. Morris came up with Grace and Priscy, 
and then the boat behind with Mrs. Cutter and Pro- 
fessor and Mrs. Miller, and Dia was faint and had 
to be taken home in the professor’s motor-car, it 
seemed of no consequence. I took it for granted 
she’d know I couldn’t get her; and I forgot it — - 
until afterward.” 


156 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

Dorothy was silent, and Ned sat looking at her 
with a light like triumph in his eyes. If he could not 
straighten out that tangle, it would not be for want 
of trying. 

“ Do you know exactly the place where you were 
caught ?” he asked, and waited anxiously for her 
answer. 

“ Yes, the very spot,” she said. “ Do you remem- 
ber the turn of the river, and that great elm tree 
on the bank? I can’t think of another that reaches 
out so far over the water. It was there.” 

“ I remember the place, too,” he said. 

Dorothy looking at him, knew that he had a pur- 
pose. But he did not tell it; nor did she ask him. 
They spoke of a few other details of the river inci- 
dent which Ned tried not to dwell upon needlessly, per- 
ceiving that it hurt her. Then for the few minutes 
left to them before he would be obliged to go, they 
returned to the play. 

But as she sat there and listened and talked of 
things concerning the work, she seemed to herself 
a different being from the inert girl who had walked 
into the room from sheer force of will to meet what 
lay before her to do, but without hope or pleasure in it. 

It was not always the typewritten page scored with 
its frequent revisions that she saw beneath her down- 
cast lids, nor the writer keen of wit and clever in 
resource, giving to their work a new vividness as his 
active mind met its imperfections with improvements; 
nor even the friend desirous to help her. 

It was the boy she had known in her school years 


NED LONGLEY AND DOROTHY 157 

as that day on her visit to Grace he had stood upon 
the snow-covered field at the foot of the hill down 
which they had been coasting. She seemed to see 
him now as he had stood there. Behind were the 
rocks hidden by the snow. Those upon his own sled 
had just escaped them. And bearing down straight 
upon these rocks was the swiftly coming sled of the 
other coasters whom there had been no time to warn. 
To strike, at that speed, would be death. But be- 
tween had stood Ned with steady eye and outstretched 
arm to deflect the sled, even at cost of his own life. 
Or again, he was beside the railroad track from which 
he had just flung off little Da-da to safety, while he 
had fallen so close to the rails that the jar of the 
train must have shaken him to and fro as it thun- 
dered past. It was the hero, rather than the writer, 
upon whom her thoughts dwelt that afternoon. His 
faith in her, the trust of others who loved her, the 
truth, which she knew — what were all the girls, and 
the dean herself in comparison? 

“ She has a little of her color back already,” mused 
Ned as he walked swiftly to his room. “ If some of 
those people don’t hear from me, it will be because I 
can’t speak ! ” 


XVII 


A SATISFACTION 

As Dia had reminded her audience in giving her 
version of the incident upon the river, the sophomores 
had handed in their theses before that event, and these 
had not yet been heard from. Dia was not troubled 
as to hers. Her arrangements through Kitty Hyde 
with one of whose interest and aid she was assured 
gave her a serene confidence. 

Dorothy had no such confidence in view of the past, 
and, happily, no such dependence. But she believed 
in her work. Her theses might not be the best by 
any means; they might not be even as good as Dia’s. 
But they were certainly not as bad as they had been 
marked. She did not believe that the professor had 
given them a fair reading. He should give this third 
one his attention. Then if he scored it, she had no 
resource but to pin her faith to Mr. Harris and Ned. 
But what could she do in fairness to make the pro- 
fessor take up her paper in an attentive mood? 

Dorothy was- a girl of resources. The very day 
that she had given in her essay, which, as has been 
said, was before the incident on the river, she per- 
ceived Professor Whitehall in advance of her as she 
was going from the college to her rooms. He heard 
steps behind him, and looking round, stopped and 
158 


A SATISFACTION 


159 

waited for her. Although he could be so severe in 
his verdicts, he was an agreeable man socially, and 
liked a word with his students. As Dorothy came up 
with him, he walked along beside her with remarks 
upon the beauty of the day, upon a political movement 
discussed in the papers, upon anything except his 
work and hers. 

But Dorothy felt that her opportunity had been 
made for her; and she resolved to take it. She re- 
membered that if she could keep her voice steady, the 
professor would not find out how fast her heart was 
beating. 

“ I know you're interested in all that concerns the 
progress your pupils are making, Professor White- 
hall, ” she began abruptly, for there was no other way 
to break off from the subjects he was bringing for- 
ward. “ I wonder if you’d care to hear of a little 
work I have been doing — outside work begun before 
I came here, a little something in the line of stories? ” 

“ Better not do that, Miss Brooke,” he said with 
decision. “ Better give strict attention to your 
studies — and your theses.” 

Dorothy remembered that he little knew how well 
she was doing the latter; but she only said regretfully: 

“ I’m sorry you feel so about it, Professor White- 
hall. Now, Mr. Harris thinks differently. He be- 
lieves that all work, if careful work, help? all other. 
And I ” 

“Mr. Harris, do you say?” he interrupted her. 

“ The editor, you mean? ” And he named the maga- 


zine. 


160 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


“ Yes ,” said Dorothy, not able now to keep the 
least flutter out of her tones. But he did not notice 
it. “ He — he has just sent me a check for one of 
my stories, to be published — oh, some time. You 
know how long the waits are in such places.” 

“ Certainly,” he answered, and looked at her as 
they went on. He scarcely had to look down, for 
he was a man under medium height and she was tall 
as “ a daughter of the gods.” He noticed now how 
fine a face she had ; and beauty also. As to her liter- 
ary work, it must have ability, or Harris would never 
pass it. The professor knew that the editor was not 
a man to be influenced in the choice of his contribu- 
tions by anything but merit. Harris’ decisions would 
never influence his own opinion of work, the pro- 
fessor was aware. Still, if Miss Brooke’s writing 
pleased such a critic, it ought to have attention. It 
should have. 

But here, Dorothy, who had fired her shot and could 
only hope that it had taken effect, passed to another 
subject, and he followed her lead. 

As she turned in at the pathway to the college dor- 
mitory, he bade her a pleasant good day, and went 
on with a new idea of the sophomore who had never 
been a freshman. 

The day after Dorothy’s talk with Ned Longley 
Kitty Hyde came to her room. Dorothy had instinct- 
ively trusted her, in spite of her intimacy with Dia, 
and had been disappointed at not seeing her. But she 
greeted her as usual with no allusion to her absence. 


A SATISFACTION 161 

Kitty, however, asked at once, “ Haven’t you missed 
me, Miss Brooke? ” 

“ I certainly have, Kitty. But I supposed you had 
a good reason for staying away.” 

“ I should say I had ! I’ve been sick.” 

Then Dorothy turned and looked at her attentively. 
Kitty was pale, and had grown thinner. The other 
expressed her sympathy warmly. 

“ You might have been sure something kept me 
away,” pursued the girl ; “ or I should have known be- 
fore now what Dia’s been up to. Why, Miss 
Brooke,” she added earnestly, “ I told her if she didn’t 
behave herself better, I wouldn’t take any more of 
her old clothes.” 

This threat as affecting Dia’s conduct seemed to 
Dorothy so absurd that she laughed. 

“ You don’t think she’d care for that?” she an- 
swered. “ She would give them to somebody else.” 

“ Yes, she does care,” retorted Kitty vehemently. 
“ She knows what hangs on to it.” Suddenly she 
stopped and looked at Dorothy who was staring at 
her in complete bewilderment. “ I mean,” she went 
on lamely, “ a girl don’t like to have things thrown 
back in her face, even if they are only old duds.” 

“Yes; I see,” said her listener. But she felt that 
there was something behind which she did not see at 
all, and which it was not intended that she should see. 

Through Kitty’s diatribe against Miss Chester- 
down’s disgraceful behavior, her stupid folly and what 
she deserved for it, Dorothy was remembering that 
in some way Ned was working to make things right. 


1 62 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


She did not seem to care how he was doing it ; she was 
content to leave it in his hands. 

As soon as she could, she started Kitty upon an- 
other subject. 

When Professor Whitehall came to reading the 
girls’ theses, he began with that of Miss Brooke. This 
time he would take it when he was fresh; and he would 
do justice to it, not more, by a hair’s breadth, no mat- 
ter what Harris thought of her. Dorothy in this 
work, however, had done her very best, better than 
before. The professor was surprised, delighted. 
Here was talent of a high order, breadth of view, 
power, and already no mean faculty of expression. 
He was glad to do the girl justice at last. Had he 
been perfunctory, unfair in his examination of her 
previous writing? How could there be so wide a 
difference in quality? The suggestion disturbed him; 
for he intended to be honest in judgment. But he 
was overworked. Perhaps he would run over those 
first two essays again in his vacation. 

So, Dorothy in the midst of her suffering through 
a shameful accusation which still hung over her, re- 
ceived for her third thesis a marking that placed her 
high, the equal, if not in advance of Dia Chester- 
down. 


XVIII 


LONGLEY INVESTIGATES 

“ Foot caught in a rope in the water, you say? 
What was she doing in the water? ” 

“ What are you doing when your canoe tips over? 
It was a pity some of your men were not there to 
find out. They were needed,” retorted Longley, his 
eyes fixed upon the superintendent as the two men 
stood on the platform built out over the water and 
affording an excellent post of observation up and 
down the river. 

“ Um ! They generally do happen round when 
they’re needed,” responded the superintendent with 
added civility. “ Where did you say this thing was? 
An’ how do you know it’s there at all, and not the 
young lady’s imagination when she forgot to tread her 
steps for a minute?” 

“ Not when somebody who’d been in the canoe with 
her couldn’t swim and was sinking,” said Ned. 
“ That’s not the time she would forget how to 
help her friend.” And he told enough of the story 
to convince his listener that something must really 
have caught Dorothy’s feet. It did not lessen his in- 
terest that the canoeists were college girls. They 
were of the more consequence. 

163 


1 64 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“ I’ll send a feller down to pick it up, or to saw 
it off, if it’s a root wedged in there,” he said. “ It 
won’t probably be more than an hour’s job going 
and coming and the work. Just where did you say 
it was ? ” 

Longley told him. 

“ But that’s not enough, Mr. Bush,” he said. “ You 
must go with me and identify the place, see the rope, 
and test how it may work with the tide running up, 
and have it cleared away. Or if the obstruction 
should prove to be a strong tendril of root from the 
tree above, have that cleared away. And then you 
must make a record of this work in your books.” 

The superintendent swore, and stared at Longley. 
“ What the — are you up to ? ” he asked. 

“ I’m up to getting the truth known,” returned 
Longley. “And I’m up hard against it, too. You’ll 
have to do it my way.” 

“ It’s extra work, anyway I do it,” said Bush. 
“ We’re supposed to keep the top of the river clear. 
We ain’t nothing to do with the bottom.” 

“Not when somebody is drowning, and sinks?” 

“That’s another matter. Of course, we have a 
feller who’s supposed to look after them.” 

“ He must have been taking a holiday that after- 
noon,” retorted Ned. “We shall have to investi- 
gate.” 

As it was a fact that the man had been sent on an 
errand for the superintendent that afternoon and then 
let off for the remainder of his time on the supposi- 
tion that it was too early in the season for boating to 


LONGLEY INVESTIGATES 165 

any extent and there was not likely to be an accident, 
Bush had no wish for investigation. 

“ Oh, we’ll make it straight for you, sir,” he replied 
in an accommodating tone. “ I’ll see about it in a 
few days. Oh, I won’t forget it,” he added, seeing 
that Ned was about to speak. 

“ But a few days won’t do, Mr. Bush,” said Long- 
ley. “ Can’t you go with me now ? I’m a college 
fellow and it’s hard to get time to come, I’m so busy,” 
he said, unwilling to explain that he could not keep 
Dorothy waiting all that time. 

“ Ah, you college fellers! I’ve seen heaps of ’em,” 
commented the other. “ They’re coming up here all 
the time. Mighty busy set they are — that’s a fact! 
They’re so hard at play, they can’t get no time to 
wprk.” And he grinned. 

“ Here’s a man now, coming to report for work,”' 
said Longley, ignoring the other’s joke. “Take him, 
and let’s be gone.” 

“ I don’t see how I can noways this afternoon.” 
Then to the man now standing before him : “ Well, 
Tim, ready for another job — eh? Take them poles 
off this wharf and carry ’em up there on the bank. 
They lumber up here.” 

“ Here are you, here’s your man, here am I. You 
can’t get a better combination,” said Ned. “And if 
you won’t do it,” he added, watching him, “ if any- 
body else trips on the rope, I’m ready to testify you 
knew about it, and didn’t attend to it.” He spoke 
sternly. 

“Eh, what?” said the superintendent. “That’s 


1 66 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


mighty cool, I say. I’m attendin’ to my dooty here, 
as anybody can see.” He paused. Longley waited 
watching him in silence. The man continued his re- 
flective pause. But at last he spoke. 

“ Howsomever, if you’re so set on it,” he said, “ I 
s’pose I might as well git it off my mind. Tim!” 
The man glanced up, still stooping over the poles he 
was gathering together. “ Leave them be for the 
present,” called the superintendent. “ Go git my boat 
and bring it round. Here, wait a minute,” as the 
man was starting off. “ Put in the hook with the 
rope fastened to it, and the knife, and the saw.” 

“ Yessir.” 

“ And hold on a minute. You might as well jump 
into your swimmers. You may have to get into the 
water. Spry, now.” 

“ Yessir.” 

As the man disappeared, the superintendent turned 
to Longley. “Now, isn’t that obligin’ you?” he 
asked. 

Ned expressed his thanks warmly. He would not 
offer to pay the official for doing his duty; he had no 
wish to bribe him. But he would reward both him 
and the workman when the work was done. 

In ten minutes they were off. 

It was hard upon Ned that he could not immediately 
proclaim his discovery. But he could not call upon 
the dean in the guise in which he had returned from 
the river; he must be in proper dress. Also, he must 
wait until after her dinner, which he must not inter- 


LONGLEY INVESTIGATES 167 

rupt. It was as soon as possible after this, however, 
that he presented himself at her house. 

“ Mr. Longley?” she said glancing at his card as 
she sat in her drawing-room entertaining a few 
friends. “ Show him in, Agnes.” And as she shook 
hands with the young fellow and he bowed to the 
guest 9 , all of whom were of the faculty and known to 
him, she said smilingly, “ I’m taking it for granted, 
Mr. Longley, that you are giving me the pleasure of a 
visit without any errand that requires business atten- 
tion?” 

Ned assured her that he had an errand to excuse 
his intrusion upon her leisure hours ; but that it could 
be done even better in the presence of others, since 
they, too, would be interested in what he had to say. 
He wa9 secretly delighted to have this opportunity to 
spread the news. 

He spoke of canoeing, of what had so nearly been 
a serious accident within the month, when two of the 
students of Ridgemore, one of them an intimate friend 
of his sister and also his own friend and coworker 
in attempts at literature, had been thrown into the 
water and picked up by a canoe behind, and brought 
home, as they all knew, in Professor Miller’s motor 
car. It was only recently that he had learned, he 
said, why the accident had been so serious; because 
Miss Brooke could easily have brought Miss Chester- 
down and herself to shore at once if she had not 
caught her feet in the loop of a rope, itself in some 
way caught about a rock, and swaying open as the 
tide ran up river. Miss Brooke herself had been in 


1 68 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


great danger, he said; and if she had not been so 
good a swimmer she would have been sucked under. 
But to see Miss Chesterdown helpless was the great- 
est stimulus, and she managed to clear herself at last 
and go to her. “ She was able to keep Miss Chester- 
down’s head above water and would have dragged 
her slowly in shore, when, as you also know,” he 
added, “ Norris came up in his canoe. It was fortu- 
nate; for both girls would have been much ex- 
hausted.” 

The group in the drawing-room listened to this ac- 
count with great interest; and Miss Aylesford mur- 
mured polite comments. But it was evident to Ned 
that the incredulity had not all died out of their faces, 
when he added: 

“ But from your interest in the students, you will 
all be glad to know that this especial danger has been 
removed. This afternoon the superintendent of the 
police on the river went with me to the spot. We 
took a man, who pulled up the rope which he had to 
cut away from the rock and roots that held it ; and it is 
now on exhibition at the boathouse there. The loop 
swaying upward and opened by the tide, looked like 
a clever trap devised for mischief, instead of an acci- 
dent.” 

“ I thank you, Mr. Longley,” broke in the dean, her 
usual cold manner warmed to eagerness. “ I cannot 
tell you how glad I am to know this.” 

“ And will you tell the students, and warn them 
that carelessness may mean a greater danger than 
merely a cold bath? ” 


LONGLEY INVESTIGATES 169 

He was looking at her now with an earnestness 
she would not pretend to misunderstand. 

“ I will explain it all — everything/’ she said to him, 
meeting his gaze. “ So, I’m sure, shall we all.” And 
she looked about her, to hear expressions of assent 
from those who had known of the charge against 
Dorothy which now seemed to them not only incredi- 
ble, as they felt in retrospect that it had always seemed, 
but absurd, and too cruel! 

“What has been wrong shall be made right; and 
in the same manner, in quiet, without exploitation,” 
added Miss Aylesford, looking at Longley with re- 
spect. 

“What wonderful tact!” exclaimed one of the 
guests when Ned had departed. “ I don’t believe 
there’s another fellow in college who could have made 
the defense absolutely clear without even a mention 
of the charge. If we get into trouble some day with 
any foreign power, we shall have to send Longley as 
ambassador. He would unravel the tangle, if any- 
body could.” 

“ So, Miss Brooke needn’t have let you drown to 
save her rank, after all? Perhaps she knew it.” 
And Susie Codman, one of a knot of girls talking 
that same evening over the news of the theses which 
had leaked out in spite of Dorothy’s silence, laughed 
as she looked at Dia. 

“ Good for you, Susie! ” cried Clara Morton. “ Of 
course, she couldn’t tell,” she added the next moment. 

But that’s no matter, anyway. You have only to 


170 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

look into Dorothy Brooke’s eyes to know she isn’t 
made of such stuff as Dia thinks.” 

Dia, who had been nettled beyond measure by the 
fact of Dorothy’s rank, sniffed scornfully, and tossed 
her head, as if her companions were all talking non- 
sense and she alone were in possession of bottom facts 
which the others had been unable to reach. 

“ I’m sure I don’t know how she did manage that,” 
she announced. “ Some kind of a trick, I’m posi- 
tive.” 

“ Like you, perhaps ! ” retorted Susie, now thor- 
oughly angry. 

It was a random shot. Nobody suspected Dia of 
any trick at all in regard to her work — nobody, that 
is, but Dorothy, who would certainly say nothing. 
But Dia’s face flamed, and her voice was too angry 
to control. 

“ How dare you compare us?” she cried. “Take 
care, Susie Codman. I won’t stand everything. 
You’d better keep to the truth. I ” 

A student entered and came up to Dia. 

“ Miss Aylesford wants to see you at her house 
immediately,” she announced. “ And she says bring 
all the girls you can get at without waiting with you.” 

Dia’s hot color faded. 

“What does she want, I wonder?’ she complained, 
“just as we’re having a good time out of lessons? 
Well, come on, girls. I can get at you, anyway. I 
guess you’ll do.” 

So, at Miss Aylesford’s house and in the presence 
of the dean’s guests, they learned the truth about Dor- 
othy Brooke. 


LONGLEY INVESTIGATES 


171 

“ She rubbed it in too well to give anybody a chance 
to question it,” commented Clara Morton to Susie 
Codman as the two in great satisfaction talked over 
the matter, and then hurried to report it to Dorothy. 

“ And I shall have to tell Grace and Priscy before 
I sleep,” added Susie. “ It’s too good to keep over 
night.” 

The following day Rex Brooke met Longley on 
the walk as the latter was going for laboratory work. 

Rex stood still, blocking the other’s path. 

“I’ve heard what you’ve been doing, old fellow,” 
he said. “ It ought to have been my work ; but — 
stupid creature! I didn’t know anything about the 
affair. Yet I should have been mad and bungled. 
I hear you were a regular diplomat, Longley. I thank 
you.” And he held out his hand which the other took 
with embarrassment. 

“ Oh, come, I say, Brooke, don’t,” he stammered. 
“You wouldn’t have deprived me of the pleasure?” 

The two young men looked for a moment straight 
into one another’s eyes, Rex’s glance earnest at first 
and growing quizzical, Ned’s steady and full of sig- 
nificance which his color emphasized. Again Rex 
gave Ned’s hand a pressure before he released it. 

“ No, Longley, I wouldn’t deprive you of the pleas- 
ure,” he said. “ Shall you be at the club to-night? ” 

“ Yes,” returned Longley as he walked off. 


XIX 


AN AMAZING DISCOVERY 

It was almost at the close of the college year. Dia 
was going to a reception — the last that would be held 
that season before class day. She knew that it would 
be well attended, and she was especially interested in 
it. A number of the students from the men’s col- 
lege were to be there, among them Raynor, with 
whom at the present juncture of her affairs, she was 
desirous to have a quiet word which she could secure 
at a reception. Until now he had helped her out 
most kindly and efficiently in the matter about which 
she had appealed to him. But now something new 
had happened; she wanted to talk it over with him. 
But what was this unwelcome news she was hearing 
with a movement of impatience that threatened to dis- 
turb the proper arrangement of her hair? 

“ Mr. Raynor told me to tell you he was very sorry, 
but he couldn’t come this evening, anyway,” Kitty was 
reporting as she sat watching Dia as the latter made 
her toilet, an occupation of which Kitty was quite 
fond. 

“ Did he send me that message, Kitty? Are you 
sure of it? ” 

“Which ear do you think I’m deaf in? Or when 
do I have such stupid fits I don’t know what any- 
172 


AN AMAZING DISCOVERY 


173 

body says ? ” retorted the girl whose manner to Dia 
was often far from respectful. 

“Well then; I shall have to get on without him,” 
returned the other. 

“ I guess you will,” laughed Kitty. 

“ Oh, I don’t care, only — There ! I’ve spoiled that 
puff and shall have to do it over again. Don’t speak 
to me, Kit, until I’ve finished.” 

Her companion smiled and shook her head, and 
sat watching, turning her gaze every now and then 
upon the pretty room and the elegant toilet appoint- 
ments of the girl before her. She sighed a little; 
then the indifferent look with which she often veiled 
emotion returned to her face. She walked across the 
room and began to examine Dia’s new gown lying 
ready on the bed. 

“ That’s a beauty,” she said when Dia’s last hairpin 
had been put in. “ I’ll help you on with it.” 

“Yes, do,” said the other. “But give me that 
paper first, Kitty; and I’ll tuck it into my trunk. 
I’m afraid we shall forget it.” 

“ No,” teased Kitty. “You won’t get that till I’m 
ready. Let’s see your gown on first. Mine won’t 
show off much beside it,” she added with a glance at 
the white frock she wore which was dainty in its 
simplicity and freshness and very becoming to her 
with her dark hair and bright, dark eyes. 

But Dia’s glance at her was indifferent, even a trifle 
scornful, as she turned back to her mirror, gazing into 
it with the loving approbation with which she was 
wont to view the handsome vision of herself. Her com- 


174 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

panion watched her comprehendingly without further 
remark. And Dia, full of thoughts of how fascinat- 
ing she would be when her charms were enhanced by 
beautiful attire, paid little heed to her except as a 
waiting-woman, and for the moment forgot even the 
important paper which she believed that Kitty had 
brought her. At last she was complete, even to her 
flowers, her handkerchief and her fan. Then, with 
her hand on the doorknob, she turned. 

“ Oh, that paper now, Kit,” she said. 

But the girl was behind her at the other end of 
the room, laughing and preparing to dodge her. 

“ Get it if you can ! ” she cried. 

Dia, however, had no intention of playing any game 
of scramble in her new gown, perhaps mussing her 
hair and giving her a general rough-and-tumble ap- 
pearance. She stood a moment looking at the other, 
the scorn in her face so evident this time that Kitty 
flushed with anger under it, and defiance blazed in 
her eyes. 

“ Don’t be such a fool, Kitty ! ” said Dia at last. 
“ I must have that paper this instant. It’s time to go, 
and I’ve no place to put it outside my room.” 

“ Haven’t you? Then, you needn’t take it.” 

“ Are you going to give it to me? ” 

“ Don’t you wish you had it?” 

Dia turned and went out, slamming the door behind 
her. She walked straight on, striving to compose her 
angry features into sweetness before she should meet 
anyone who knew her. It was not until she had gone 
some little distance that she noticed steps behind her. 


AN AMAZING DISCOVERY 175 

It was one of the girls probably. She glanced back- 
ward. No; it was Kitty who came running up and 
without a word walked on beside her. 

“ Now, stop fooling and give me the paper,” said 
Dia. “ I must tuck it away somewhere. What makes 
you behave so, Kitty ? ” 

Kitty spread out her empty hands with a teasing 
laugh, but made no other answer. Then she dropped 
behind; and so the two went on the short remaining 
distance. Dia in the greetings and the admiring 
glances she was receiving as she met her comrades, 
again forgot Kitty, until coming from the dressing 
room where she had waited only a moment to throw 
off her light wrap and be assured that her hair and 
herself generally were in order, she perceived Kitty 
still following her. Dia stopped with decision, and 
held out her hand authoritatively. 

“ Give it to me now — at once,” she commanded 
sharply. “And then go straight home, Kitty. This 
is no place for you.” 

“Why not?” cried the girl angrily. And she 
pushed past Dia into the reception room. There she 
turned and faced her. 

“I haven’t any papers, or anything else for you, 
Dia,” she said audibly. “ You needn’t badger me so 
about it.” Then glancing around her to assure her- 
self that she had an audience, she added still more 
audibly : “ Mr. Raynor can’t write any more theses 

for you; he says he’s too busy on his own work. And, 
anyway, he says, he won’t have that proud Brooke 
beating him. I guess,” she went on, “he’s mad be- 


176 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

cause you go off with other fellows. Perhaps if you’ll 
be good to him, he’ll come round and help you again, 
Dia.” 

Dorothy was one of those who from her nearness 
could not avoid hearing this speech. Bridges, who was 
among the guests and not far from her, was also an 
auditor. He perceived her troubled expression. But 
he knew by previous experience that she was not a 
girl who enjoyed tormenting an enemy. 

The little group about Dia was beginning to gain 
in numbers, few gathering immediately the purport of 
what had been said, except that the girl to whom Miss 
Chesterdown had been so kind was insulting her. But 
those near repeated softly to others farther away, and 
comprehension was dawning upon them, when Dia, 
her face flushing scarlet, her head held scornfully erect, 
turned away from Kitty and said audibly that her 
jokes were often coarse and out of place, and so 
moved off. 

The other’s eye 9 followed her still angrily, and she 
opened her lips again, when Dorothy greeted her with 
a courtesy that she could not avoid responding to. 
Dorothy’s example was followed by others who knew 
of Kitty’s histrionic powers — a talent greatly appre- 
ciated at the college — and had met her in her goings 
and comings, and in the single time that she had been 
in the reception room of the dormitory in which were 
both Dia and Dorothy. Kitty was not as elaborately 
or expensively gowned as the students. But the neat- 
ness of her attire, her dignified bearing, the intelli- 
gence of her face and her ability to hold her own in 


AN AMAZING DISCOVERY 


177 

conversation made a place for her at once. She had 
been there nearly half an hour, studiously ignored by 
Dia, when a slight stir at the door turned her atten- 
tion thither. A gentleman of commanding and as- 
sertive presence had entered the room. He was tall, 
of fine although somewhat heavy figure, and exquis- 
itely groomed, altogether, a man whom many of the 
guests paused in their interchange of words with their 
neighbors to watch. 

“ Mr. Chesterdown ! ” murmured a voice behind 
Ned Longley, the voice of one of Dia’s intimates. 
“Isn’t he handsome? And he must be proud of her. 
Don’t you think they look alike? ” 

To this her companion, another student, assented. 

Dia was coming forward to meet her father, every 
shadow gone from her face in its look of pleasure. 
She moved with an ease and assurance which gave her 
an air almost of grace, and as the crowd made way 
for her her progress seemed somewhat in the nature 
of a triumph. She was really happy because she felt 
herself now in the presence of one who would protect 
her from any annoyance that might threaten, or per- 
haps still more for the reason that she did not believe 
that any annoyance would be even thought of under 
such protection. They went up the room together 
talking, she leading him to the hostesses of the even- 
ing. They remained in that part of the room for 
some time. 

But Dia had an anxiety. It was unlikely that her 
father in his absorption in other guests during the little 
while he would remain, would even see Kitty Hyde. 


178 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

And if he did, he might not recognize her; it was 
some time since he had seen her; she had grown, and 
she was differently dressed. Still, he was so strongly 
opposed to his daughter’s having anything to do with 
the girl that Dia determined to take what seemed to 
her the only safe way out of the danger. With this 
purpose, she took the most unsafe. She left her father 
busily engaged in a playful argument with one of the 
seniors, and slipped across the room to where Kitty 
chanced to be talking with Rex Brooke. The two 
got on well together in their few encounters; he 
thought her an astonishingly bright girl, and she ad- 
mired him greatly, in girl fashion. 

“ Excuse me,” said Dia addressing Rex, and not too 
well pleased that he was finding his companion so en- 
tertaining. “ Kitty, I must speak to you a moment. 
I know you will excuse me,” she repeated looking at 
the young man, as if no apology to the girl were 
needed. And she drew her aside. 

“What do you mean by staying here?” she began 
in an undertone. “ Don’t you know the danger of it? 
My father may see you at any moment. You know he 
won’t have us together at all. I forget that too often. 
Go home now, this instant. You shall not stay here 
another minute. Go along.” She remembered to keep 
her tones low, but her voice was stern with anger and 
arrogant authority. 

Kitty’s high spirit was roused beyond control. She 
cared not who heard her; she scarcely knew what she 
was saying. 

“ Your father mad to see you talking to me — your 


AN AMAZING DISCOVERY 


179 


own sister, Dia Hyde — yes, Dia Hyde,” she repeated 
so loudly that half the room heard her. “ Your 
father! Your father!” she scoffed. “ Mr. Chester- 
down your father! No more than he is mine. He 
did adopt you legally, I know. That makes you 
ashamed of your own flesh and blood. It’s as good 


By this time a hand had grasped the girl’s arm, a 
hand that shook it in no gentle way. 

“ Girl ! ” hissed Mr. Chesterdown’s voice in her ear. 
“ Silence this instant, or I’ll have you arrested for 
blackmail.” This last threat he spoke very audibly. 
“ Are you out of your mind,” he went on, “ that you 
speak lies as fast as your tongue can utter them? 
Silence, I say! How came she here?” he asked turn- 
ing to Dia. But the next moment he saw his mistake ; 
the movement, the question confessed a link between 
them. 

Kitty withdrew the arm that only extreme rage 
against her could have made him touch, and stood fac- 
ing him, her eyes blazing, her cheeks flushed, her lips 
quivering. She laughed. If she had ever feared him, 
that day was past. 

“ Yes, good friends,” she said addressing the room, 
“ Dia and I are sisters.” 

“ Silence, girl ! Every word you add to the lies 
you have told shall add the more to your punish- 
ment. Do you know what blackmail means ? ” he 
hissed. 

“ You may put me in prison for the rest of my life 
if you can prove honestly I’ve not told the truth,” she 


i8o DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


cried, her eyes not wavering from the threatening 
gaze of his. 

“ Poor creature! ” he said as if half to himself, sud- 
denly changing his tone. “ Poor girl! You don’t 
know what you’ve done.” 

“ Indeed, I do,” retorted Kitty. “ I’ve cut off the 
sneaking little money you gave my mother and me for 
Dia. We were never to tell. I wouldn’t speak while 
she was living. But now I don’t care. And Dia 
patched out your pittance with her old clothes — * 
precious old some of them were.” 

“ Oh, Kitty ! Kitty ! Do stop for your own sake ! ” 
cried Dorothy, bringing herself before the girl and 
looking imploringly into the quivering, furious face. 
“ Dear Kitty, whatever is true, this is no time and 
place to say it. Your mother would not want it, you 
know. She did what she thought best.” 

The girl looked at her. Like rain after an electric 
storm that has spent its fury, the waterdrops gathered 
in her eyes. 

A freer breath went through the room. The attack 
had been so sudden, the tension so great that until this 
no one had had the power to move. 

But if the very violence of her passion had helped 
to subdue Kitty, this interruption had enraged Ches- 
terdown the more. Attention was turning from the 
girl to himself. These people would want to know 
the truth. He could bluff the girl, but not the crowd. 

He turned his fierce gaze upon Dorothy. His 
tones were none the less venomous because they were 
controlled. 


AN AMAZING DISCOVERY 181 

“ Young woman,” he said to her authoritatively, 
“ I insist that you shall not interfere. L What affair of 
yours is this? ” 

“ You are mistaken, Mr. Chesterdown. Everything 
that makes for peace is my affair, and everyone’s 
affair.” As she answered him she maintained her 
place beside Kitty and her eyes looked unflinchingly 
into the eyes which had now turned their blazing 
anger upon her. As thus her eyes met his fully, there 
came to her one of those illuminations as to character 
which sometimes flashed upon her. She held his 
wrathful gaze steadily, until Kitty had turned from 
him. Then she also turned away, sure that he was 
false, believing Kitty, and not him. 

Mr. Chesterdown considered himself, or assumed 
to consider himself, master of the situation. He threw 
a defiant glance about him, straightened himself to his 
utmost height, drew Dia’s arm ostentatiously within 
his own, and turned for a moment to face the people 
who with all the courtesy that breeding gives not to 
mark in public a scene personal and private, had been 
too much surprised and overwhelmed to have yet re- 
covered coolness. 

With a bow the stiffness of which did not succeed 
in concealing the rudeness of his sneer, he said : 

“ In sending my daughter here I was not aware 
whom you admitted to your society, and what insults 
Miss Chesterdown would be obliged to receive from 
one of those underbred persons whose presence here 
is a disgrace to those who encourage it. I shall no 
longer permit my daughter to be subjected to such en- 


1 82 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


counters. She bids you good evening. We go to the 
dean.” 

Again he bowed, and Dia, pale and trembling, 
turned in silence and quitted the room with him. 

A momentary stillness followed their exit. Then 
in all parts of the room were seen groups in earnest 
discussion; and no one doubted that for a time every 
group discussed the same subject. 

Ned Longley, who was at Dorothy’s elbow, turned 
to her with a smile. 

“ Quite a whirlwind, Dorothy! ” he remarked. 

“A little kitten out of the bag, or rather I should 
say, a sizable cat,” added Rex. And he glanced from 
his sister to Miss Hyde. 

“ I may come to starving, but I must laugh now,” 
said the latter tremulously. “At any rate, I believe 
I’m glad it’s over.” 

This scene had proved too much for the reception, 
and the company soon melted away. 

An hour later Grace and Priscy came into Doro- 
thy’s room. 

“ She’s gone ! Gone ! Joy go with her ! ” cried Pell- 
Mell. “ Dia has cleared out for good and all — gone 
into town to take the midnight train,” she added as 
Dorothy looked at her. “ She’s gone, bag and — no, 
I imagine the baggage will be sent to-morrow morn- 
ing. But, Dorothy, Dia has left college; she won’t 
show her face here again. And they say there was an 
awful row with the dean. She stood up for telling the 
truth, for saying that Dia was adopted, if she really 
was, and not making a secret when there was nothing 
to hide.” 


AN AMAZING DISCOVERY 183 

“I’m so glad, Dorothy dear,” said Grace, “that 
your thesis was all right before she left; so that no- 
body can say you got your rank because she .went 
away and gave you the chance.” 

“ So am I,” said Dorothy. “ It's just like you, 
Grace, to think of that. Girls,” she added sud- 
denly, “ do you remember the likeness to Dia that no- 
body could account for — I mean, nobody who noticed 
it — in Rose Hewes’s portrait of Kitty? ” 


XX 


* 


SUMMER DAYS 

“ ’Twas not quite like the invasion of the Huns, 
Our Attilas were three delightful college girls; they 
made havoc of nothing, unless of our hearts/’ And 
the speaker glanced reguishly at one of his listeners. 
“ Neither was it a Mohammedan invasion, as it was led 
by women and not a sword among them ! But it was 
an eastern invasion for all that; it reminded one of 
the saying that the bands of Syria came into the land, 
except that this is not the land of Israel.” 

“ You’re flying so high, Rex, I’m afraid you’ll come 
down like an aeroplane, at least a hundred feet sheer. 
You’d better start for earth before you tumble there,” 
laughed his other listener. 

“ This is a good earth to tumble to,” said the first, 
her eyes upon the sweep of lawn with its great trees 
and the glimpse of distant lake half hidden by these 
while the far-away hills rose against the horizon line, 
here in sunshine, there in soft haze as they seemed 
to fade into the blue of the sky. Rex sat upon the 
upper step of the veranda of his home, while in easy- 
chairs near him sat Dorothy and her guest no more 
attractive to his sister than to himself. 

“ But aren’t you going to tell me about the Syrian 
184 




SUMMER DAYS 185 

invasion?” asked this guest smiling at him. “Now 
you’ve come to earth, tell me what happened here.” 

“ Sixteen little Syrian girls from the college settle- 
ment district Doro is so fond of, and three ladies to 
look after them — we all did that, though. But I can’t 
say that they happened here ; they were all properly in- 
vited for a week. They turned the house on its chim- 
neys. I don’t know whether it has righted itself yet.” 

“ Rex, you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” cried 
Dorothy indignantly. “ The children behaved beauti- 
fully, Lulu.” 

“ Really, Miss Bromley,” he said, “ I’m not telling 
the truth. They did behave well, a great deal better 
than American children with no more opportunities 
would have done. That’s because they’d been taught 
at home to obey their parents, which American chil- 
dren never are.” 

“ If you don’t get on any faster, you’ll not finish in 
time for luncheon; and we’re going motoring after- 
wards, you know,” interrupted Dorothy. 

“ It was Dorothy’s plan, and the mater’s heart was 
in it, too; so, you know it must have been a good 
scheme,” he said. “ Sixteen little girls, each twelve, 
or thereabouts, to three ladies, five and a third girls 
apiece.” 

“ You remind me of Mr. Dwight and his six hun^ 
dred telephone calls a year— one and so many hun- 
dredths a day,” laughed Dorothy. 

“ And who’s interrupting and keeping me from get- 
ting on now? If you don’t let me finish, I shan’t be 
in time for luncheon,” retorted Rex. 


1 86 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


She leaned forward and patted his shoulder. “ I 
sit corrected. Go ahead, old fellow.” 

“ Very well, then. Three most interesting college 
girls in charge, and sixteen little Syrian girls wild 
with delight over the freedom of the lawn, the trees, 
the lake, of everything, in short. They declared it 
was exactly like their own country — Brookehurst like 
Syria! But they meant well. Not one had seen her 
own country since she was three or four years old. 
But it was intended for a compliment. We earned 
our whole summer vacation that week, Miss Bromley. 
Everybody took hold and helped in some way. I did 
the heavy looking on.” 

“ Why, Rex, you took them out boating, a few at 
a time, and that made many times for you. And you 
took them motoring, and you put up swings; and 
there’s no telling what he didn’t do, Lulu.” 

“ I know,” said Lulu smiling. 

“ They’d all been to school in the city,” went on the 
young man. “ Their English was understandable, but 
it was amusing. The maids all got interested in the 
children. Bella cooked for them sweetly in every 
sense.” 

“ I know you’ve a big place,” said Lulu. “ But I 
can’t see how you managed.” 

“ Oh, three fair-sized tents and some ingenuity will 
do a good deal,” answered Rex. “ But when we had 
a two days’ rain storm, they all had to come into the 
house.” 

“ Whew!” 

“ That was the time when the ingenuity came to the 
front.” 


SUMMER DAYS 187 

“ Really, Lulu, it was.” And Dorothy laughed at 
the recollection. 

“ Oh, yes, we had a fine time,” continued Rex. 
“ When they all went home at the end of the week, 
we drew a very long breath, but every blessed child 
begged to come another year ! But I must not forget 
to say that Olive made fudge for them frequently, 
Harry caught fish on the rainy days, and Bella made 
them three ice-cream feasts on the lawn.” 

“We really had a good time out of the visit, Lulu, 
they were so happy; and they were interesting, too,” 
said Dorothy. “ But it is refreshing to sit here 
and have nothing to do but be happy; it’s so good 
to be with you. What? Oh, Olive! Yes, I’ll 
come.” 

And Dorothy sprang up and ran into the house. 

“ Yes, it is so good to be with you, Lulu,” cried the 
young man, turning upon her with a look that made 
her eyes droop and her cheeks flush. “You’re cruel 
to hold me off so long,” he went on. “ What’s the 
need of waiting until we are through school and col- 
lege, and Harold’s a freshman ” 

“ I said perhaps a soph ” began the girl. 

But he went on without heeding her. “ Everybody 
here loves you. You know they would all be delighted 
to have us engaged at once. Why not be so, Lulu? 
Why, Doro was as jealous as possible because she 
thought I was struck on the college beauty. I ” 

“Ah!” said Lulu. “The college beauty! No 
doubt, you were caught by her. Don’t you see how 
well it is we’re not engaged ? ” 

“Now, you’re cruel,” he said. Then with a flash 


1 88 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


in his eyes, he added, “What! And are you jealous, 
too? ” 

Lulu laughed, although not quite freely. 

“Hardly!” she answered with a toss of her head. 
“ You are free to do as you like, Mr. Brooke.” 

“ Oh, am I? ” he retorted fervently. “ Then, Lulu, 
I’d like to be engaged to you.” 

“ That would be my doing,” she said smiling at him 
so bewitchingly that Dorothy’s return alone prevented 
a sudden demonstration on his part. She caught the 
look upon their faces, and wanted to run away again. 
But they had seen her and it would not do. 

“ That’s a foine young lady,” remarked the waitress, 
Nora, to Bella, the cook, after Lulu’s departure a week 
later. 

“ I’m of the same mind,” returned Bella heartily. 
“ An’ I’m thinking so is Mr. Rex. I’m thinking we’ll 
be after havin’ her in our family some foine day.” 

A month later. 

From far in the distance at the right where rocks 
were piled up like a tiny promontory to where on the 
left, scarcely to be seen against the sky, the land jutted 
out and hid the shore beyond it from the gazer, all 
the long miles between the two points beat the surf 
upon the sandy beach. The curl of the great green wave 
coming from out the distance on one hand and run- 
ning on and on like a race horse, curling and toppling 
into white, hissing foam as it ran and dashing itself 
broken against the shore, or sometimes joined by a 
breaker behind, the two mingling into one as they 


SUMMER DAYS 


189 

raced up to the sands — it was all magnificent. The 
thunder of the wave swelling and dying down, only 
to rise again with the next one, the flashing whiteness 
of the long lines of foam, the unbroken sweep of the 
ocean outward with only water and sky on the horizon, 
delighted Dorothy, as it had done from her child- 
hood. 

“ This is my favorite beach,” she said. “ We are 
looking straight across to Europe — if we could only 
see it! I wonder,” she added the next moment, “if 
there will ever come a generation ingenious enough 
to invent and manage an aeroplane — or some sky- 
boat — which can mount high enough, and a glass 
powerful enough to get a bird’s-eye view of half the 
earth at once, from pole to pole and half around the 
equator? Imagine it! Should you like to do it?” 

“ Not in vacation,” laughed her companion. But 
he was imagining how terrible it would be to wander 
off the earth in that way while she was upon it. 

“ Why, Ned,” she said turning to him, “ I thought 
you like imaginings.” 

“ Not quite such a flight if you please,” he said. 
“ And especially when I’m so comfortable here.” 

“ It would be a pity to miss those breakers,” she 
agreed. “ Harry is so fond of watching them,” she 
said the next moment. “ Olive is too busy ; it takes 
too much time.” And she laughed softly. 

“ And Olive keeps other people busy,” he said. 
“ She always has something on hand. I’m glad you 
really do know how to rest once in a while. You 
know so well how to work.” 


190 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“ Thank you,” she answered as her face lighted. 
“ Olive has gone to return Miss Appleton’s visit. She 
is that girl with the golden hair whom we saw on the 
beach last week, you remember. She and Olive have 
become fast friends. Harry didn’t take to the brother. 
I don’t know why.” 

“ Harry is an interesting boy,” remarked Ned. 

“ And infinitely amusing,” returned Dorothy. And 
both laughed. 

They talked on for a while, neither making any ef- 
fort at conversation, but speaking upon any subject 
that happened to come up. They were so well ac- 
quainted, and had so many things in common, that 
when they were not working their talk often flowed 
on in this way. Both enjoyed it. Ned’s family were 
at another beach; but he had said that he preferred this 
one. And so he did when Dorothy was here. She 
had come down with her mother and “ the children,” 
as it was still the custom to call them behind their 
backs. Judge Brooke came for week ends, and Rex 
was away with classmates. 

The two friends had been sitting upon the beach 
for half an hour, when a young man sauntered to- 
ward them. 

“ Here you are,” he said as he lifted his hat. And 
the next moment he had thrown himself down on the 
sand beside Dorothy. 

At sight of him a frown had for an instant knitted 
itself between Ned’s eyes. But it had gone when he 
greeted the other and his tone was free from annoy- 
ance. 


SUMMER DAYS 


191 

“ It’s too delightful a day to sit here and do noth- 
ing,” began Bridges. 

“ We’re letting the waves do for us,” said Doro- 
thy. 

“Yes, they’re beautiful, aren’t they? See that one 
now. It’s a regular comber. What a roll! What 
magnificent foam ! ” They sat a minute in silence 
watching the great wave roll in and break. “ But 
come,” said Bridges then. “ It’s beautiful here; but 
the tide will take care of itself. What do you say to 
motoring?” He addressed both, but he looked at 
Dorothy. 

Ned had intended to ask her to go sailing when the 
tide served. It was he who answered first. 

“ Thank you,” he said. “ But I have letters to 
write ; I must go in.” 

He rose and nodding gravely to the two he was 
leaving, walked away. “ I hope I’m not a Pharisee,” 
ran his thoughts as he went off. “ But at any rate, I 
don’t cut in like that.” And he straightened himself 
and walked at a rate more expressive of his indigna- 
tion. 

As he quitted her, Dorothy looked after him for a 
moment with a smile in her eyes. Then she devoted 
herself to Bridges; and the two had a merry tilt of 
words until they rose and sauntered toward the hotel, 
to see if Mrs. Brooke also did not want to go motor- 
ing? 

Charley Bridges- was happy as the three, accom- 
panied by Harry, started for a long spin. He also 
had come to this beach because Dorothy was here. 


192 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

He was a good fellow, kind, obliging and according 
to his lights unselfish. But his lights led him to re- 
gard the affairs of love like those of business. To be 
on hand whenever possible, and to oust the other fel- 
low’s chances of a monopoly were business maxims 
to be applied elsewhere as well, whenever he could do 
it without positive rudeness. 

On the other hand, never once had Ned interrupted 
him when he was pleasantly ensconced somewhere 
having a conversational duet with Dorothy. It did 
not accord with Ned’s ideas of . fair play. And then, 
if Dorothy would care for himself only in pro- 
portion as he blocked the way to others — what was 
that ? 

But Longley was by no means a fellow to be balked. 
Dorothy delighted in sailing; and a little sail-boat, the 
best to be had at the resort, was often skimming over 
the water before anybody had missed the two occu- 
pants. Or often there were three, for although Mrs. 
Brooke was not fond of sailing and Olive inclined to 
be seasick, Harry was always ready to be ballast, as he 
put it. Often also both young men joined the family 
party on beach or veranda and made themselves agree- 
able. It seemed to her father and mother who 
watched her with both amusement and anxiety, that 
Dorothy held the scales of her favor with a remark- 
ably level hand. 

“ Is our daughter thinking seriously of one of those 
young fellows, Olivia? ” the judge asked his wife one 
evening. “ I’ve nothing against either of them, but 
that he seems to want our little girl. But we must 


SUMMER DAYS 


i93 

have her a while longer. What with school and college, 
we don’t seem to get much of her.” 

“Except her heart,” answered Mrs. Brooke smil- 
ing at him. “ I’ve been watching her,” she added. “ I 
don’t think she is ready yet.” 

“ The best news I’ve had for a long time,” he re- 
turned with a sigh of relief. And he took up the 
evening paper. 

“ But, my dear, you can’t be sure of a woman,” 
laughed his wife. “ And she is not always sure of her- 
self. I know by my own experience.” 

He gave her a quizzical glance that suggested from 
whom Rex had inherited his fun. “ We must hope 
for the best,” he responded, and returned to his paper. 

It was the day before they all went home that some- 
thing unforgettable happened. 

It was hot on shore, and cool in the water, and 
Dorothy with other bathers was enjoying herself im- 
mensely. She was so fine a swimmer that she liked to 
strike out for herself and not be checked by the con- 
stant fear of bumping up against somebody else, hardly 
that there was not plenty of room in the ocean, but be- 
cause the bathers were so fond of keeping together. 
So she swam off to quite a distance and there dis- 
ported at her ease, presuming upon her skill as a 
swimmer, forgetful of a danger that she knew, de- 
lighting in the exercise and not noticing that she was 
getting a good distance out to sea. 

But suddenly she perceived this, and turned to swim 
back to shore again. But she was immediately whirled 
around once more. Then she perceived that she was 


194 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

no longer swimming, but was being carried outward 
in spite of herself. 

She was caught in the undertow ! 

In vain she struggled against it. She could make 
no headway; every moment she was being borne fur- 
ther out. Unless some one came to her aid, she was 
lost. She called at the top of her lungs. But what 
were her lungs against the roar of the surf? All 
through her own recklessness she must lose the beau- 
tiful life she loved so much. Already, she was grow- 
ing weaker, less able to resist. Soon it would be over. 

An answering shout! 

Her soul that had seemed floating away came back 
to listen. 

Again the shout, and nearer. Some one was com- 
ing to her. She knew who it was, although he had not 
been in the water when she had first come in, and she 
had not seen him come. 

“ Hold on ! Hold on, Dorothy ! ” called the voice. 
“ A moment ! A moment ! ” 

And it was little more than a moment, although to 
her it seemed hours, before firm hands had caught 
and turned her toward the shore, and all Ned Long- 
ley’s might was put forth to make it. But the terrible 
water was so strong. 

“Work, work with all your might, Dorothy!” he 
said; and he held her in a way to impede her move- 
ments as little as possible. 

It seemed at times as if the terrible water were 
stronger than all the strength of both. But they 
struggled on, silent, with the force of desperation. 


SUMMER DAYS 


195 


She knew that but for the power of his arm, the might 
of his will, she would have yielded and been swept 
away. 

They were holding their own. They were gaining 
a little. Every rod weakened, if ever so slightly, the 
grip of the undertow. “Harder! harder, Dorothy !” 
he said hoarsely. And with desperate force they made 
a further gain; and then another. But the strength of 
both was failing. 

Help was coming. Men were shouting to them to 
hold on, and strong swimmers were making for them. 
“ The boat ! The boat ! ” they shouted. “ It’s com- 
ing!” 

So it was, like a speck in the distance. 

But at that moment Ned’s toes touched bottom. He 
plunged forward, dragging Dorothy. An instant more 
and his feet were planted on the shelving sands. An- 
other moment and he had caught her in his arms and 
run up on the beach. At the very edge of the water he 
fell with her, utterly spent. 

But help had come. 

For days and days the strong, terrible waves seemed 
swaying back and forth in Dorothy’s head, and the 
knowledge that death had been so near gave a new 
and more solemn value to life. 

“ He would have died, too,” she said to herself as 
she mused upon the accident. “ My own carelessness 
came near costing him his life. I’m so grateful it came 
out right. But all the same, it was wicked in me.” 

When Bridges, who had been miles away that day, 
learned of the rescue, he soliloquized grimly: 


196 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“ One by fire ; one by water. We’re both in it now. 
We’re both neck and neck just now. But I’ll win her. 
I must have her. Last summer’s fancy was nothing to 
this. I must have her,” he repeated. But he sat a 
while very grave. 

When Lulu Bromley informed her grandmother 
where Dorothy and her family had been spending the 
month of August, that lady’s interest was aroused. 

“ Why, Lulu,” she cried, “ why didn’t you tell me 
in time? I’d have taken you there too. What a queer 
girl you are. You never know how to hint.” Then 
she paused and looked at her granddaughter with ap- 
proving eyes. “ But on the whole, I’m glad of it,” 
she added with decision. “ The other one is always 
doing that.” 

Lulu, however, at this reference added no word 
against her cousin, Laura Arnold. 


XXI 


A NEW STATUS 

“ Here's Dorothy Brooke ! Glad to see you, Doro- 
thy." And Clara Morton held out a cordial hand, 
while Susie Codman ran up to the newcomer with 
a warm embrace. 

Dorothy's heart leaped. This reminded her of the 
greeting at Hosmer Hall. To be sure, there were not 
so many here who knew her as her schoolmates had 
done; but there were enough to make a welcome. She 
looked about her as she stood in the great hall of the 
dormitory, and as one and another uttered the words 
of friendly greeting, she felt herself more at home 
than she had done yet. 

“ We’ve a foeman at golf worthy of your steel, 
Dorothy," exclaimed Mattie Winters who having lost 
Dia Chesterdown, was determined to be still on the 
winning side, if she had to change about to do it. 

“ Don’t you feel important as a junior?” laughed 
one of her classmates looking her over admiringly. 
The girls all said that although Miss Brooke did not 
dress so richly as Miss Chesterdown, her taste was as 
good. 

“Now, girls, isn’t she a dear?" asked Susie Cod- 
man when Dorothy had gone to her room, the same 
room as last year; yet it had a pleasanter look to her. 

197 


igS DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“We did her an awful injustice, and we ought to 
make it up to her/’ declared Nellie Pinckney, who, 
under Dia’s leadership, had been one of Dorothy’s 
most determined accusers. 

“ Let’s turn from the error of our ways/’ an- 
nounced Mattie, “ and treat her as we ought to do. 
I’m ready, for one. Clara, you lucky girl, you have 
nothing to repent of. You never were very fond of 
the adopted.” 

The girl addressed stopped full before the speaker 
and regarded her steadily a moment with an expres- 
sion which, to say the least, was not admiring. 

“ ‘ The adopted ’ ! ” she repeated. “ So, after en- 
during all Dia Chesterdown’s airs and swallowing her 
wicked accusation of Miss Brooke, you’re turning 
against her for the one thing the girl can’t help and 
is not the least to blame for — nor anybody else that I 
can see, unless the man who poses as her father and 
is willing to lie about it. I’m not with you in that.” 

She turned herself about and was going away, when 
she brought up against Dorothy, who had returned. 

“ My ! My ! ” cried Clara. “ How quick you’ve been ! 
I shouldn’t have more than pulled the pins out of my 
hat by this time. Don’t you want a game of tennis 
this afternoon before the tug begins? We’ve not time 
for golf.” 

“ Indeed, I do,” said Dorothy. 

“ Then we’ll choose sides now,” said Clara, “ and 
be on the ground by three o’clock.” 

“ Grace ! Grace ! ” called Priscy running into the 
former’s room that evening, “our Dorothy is begin- 


A NEW STATUS 


199 

ning to get her rights. Your brother’s clearing of her 
from that girl’s wicked slander has gone farther than 
the accusation had traveled. They’re all saying it was 
a shame, and wanting to make it up to her. I could 
have hugged the dean for the way she greeted her. 
She left a crowd of girls who had come in first and 
walked half across her great room and held out her 
hand and said, * Miss Brooke, I’m glad to see you.’ 
And she said it with a ring in her tones, as if she 
meant it. She’s the right kind after all, Grace. Then 
as soon as the dean had done with the girls, they all 
came around Dorothy.” 

“How did you hear about it?” asked the other. 

“ ‘ Hear ’ ! ‘ hear,’ indeed ! I was there.” 

The tide had turned. Dorothy was beginning to 
come into her own place of respect and regard, and 
into a following, although not as large as she had had 
at school, at least not at present. But the girls whom 
she cared for most were beginning to understand her. 
Mattie Winters was not among these; yet she came 
in time to be genuinely fond of Dorothy, to compre- 
hend better the other’s standards, and, in a degree at 
least, to imitate them. 

In her home letter several weeks later, Dorothy 
wrote that it was reported that Dia Chesterdown had 
gone to school in Paris; some thought that it was to a 
convent. She wrote that a good many of the girls 
were interested in Kitty Hyde and about a dozen were 
going to try to help her make her way. 

“ As soon as she can,” went on Dorothy, “ she is 
going to study for the stage. She is wild to do it, 


200 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


and I think she has great talent. She was talking to me 
again to-day about the plays that Ned and I write 
together. She wants to act in one of them. She is 
sure she can do it, and so am I. But we may not have 
a chance to produce any play, even a short one, at pres- 
ent. I promised Kitty to keep her in mind and I’ve 
spoken to Ned about her. He likes her. I’m study- 
ing the drama here as I could do nowhere else; and 
so is Ned. It is a delight to us, and the greatest profit. 
Whatever talent I may have will come out all the 
stronger for its training here. Thank Olive for her 
interesting letter. Grace and Pell-Mell nearly went 
into convulsions over her description of Mrs. Gris- 
wold with her baby and the precious old professor to 
escort them! She is still Miss Knowles remodeled 
by marriage and motherhood. I wish I’d been there 
to see. But she is good; and I’m delighted she is 
happy. Now, it’s a big hour of the night — I won’t 
say whether it’s the biggest. But I must bid you good- 
by with dear love to you all. Always your little com- 
rade, no matter how big and old I grow, and your lov- 
ing Dorothy.” 

Dorothy’s rank in her studies affected by her thesis, 
was better at this beginning of the year, and con- 
stantly, although not rapidly, improved. Grace Long- 
ley and Priscy Pell always held their own, the former 
with steadiness, the latter with brilliancy. 

The months went by with healthful work and happy 
play. As summer had faded into autumn, so autumn 
bristled into winter. The Christmas holidays came 


A NEW STATUS 


201 


and passed. And from these the students settled down 
again for the long and hard pull up the hill of winter, 
to find the spring with its blossoming hopes of flower- 
ing success to the seniors, of budding promise to the 
juniors, and effulgence of summer bloom and glad- 
ness to all. 

But spring with its hopes had not yet arrived. For 
it was only the middle of January. 

In the past weeks and months Dorothy had seen 
much of Ned Longley, and not a little of Charley 
Bridges. 


XXII 


SOME ONE ASKS A QUESTION 

Charley Bridges sat in the reception room waiting 
for Dorothy. 

Twice within the past two weeks she had not come 
down to see him when he had called, but had sent her 
excuses, once by Miss Pell, and once by Grace Long- 
ley, whichever one had happened at the moment to 
be unengaged. It had seemed kinder to give some ex- 
planation than merely to send excuses by the maid. 
Dorothy had been obliged to take every moment she 
had for an important examination coming the follow- 
ing day. Miss Pell had told him this kindly. But 
when, the next time, Miss Longley had appeared with 
her message, there had been a sympathy in her voice 
and manner grateful to him. For in spite of every- 
thing, Grace felt that it must be hard not to see Doro- 
thy when one had come to do it. And Bridges had 
kept her a few minutes talking about Dorothy, and 
then had asked courteously about herself and spoken 
of the days when she was at Mount Rest. 

He had acknowledged to himself the days when he 
had sat waiting and Dorothy had not come to him, that 
he had been there pretty often that autumn and win- 
ter. But he had intended to come. No doubt she was 
very busy with her studies. But there was no reason 
202 


SOME ONE ASKS A QUESTION 203 

why studies or anything else should crowd him out of 
her thoughts. Yes, he would continue to come until 
he had a right to come — and surely after that he would 
come, he said to himself with a smile. But it was a 
smile at the very idea of his allowing himself to be 
denied in- such case, and not a smile of security in his 
position; for this he did not have. She was no Ata- 
lanta before whom he could throw down the golden 
apples, and so succeed in catching her, because she 
would stop to pick them up. He had known this about 
her in spite of his mother's assertions that summer at 
Mount Rest when he had thought of her as a little 
typewriter girl. How he wished now that she really 
was that! 

He must not delay speech longer, not only, or 
chiefly because the strain was so hard to bear; but be- 
cause waiting was unwise. And he recalled more than 
one occasion when Lon-gley had carried her off before 
his face and eyes on the excuse of some dramatic 
work. It might have been a real reason, but all the 
same Bridges recognized the danger of it. That 
should not last long, if he won her. But between her 
studies and the Ridgemore customs and chaperons, he 
had most limited opportunities for the kind of speech 
he desired. 

This day, however, she had sent him word that she 
was coming. And he quoted to himself the old saying 
that he must find a way, or make it. Yes, this very day 
he must do that. He looked about him as he sat there, 
to discover some avenue of opportunity. But how 
could he utter for a private ear things of a most per- 


204 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

sonal character in a public reception room? As to 
finding a way, there was none. But as to making 
it 

“Ah, Miss Brooke!” He rose and went forward 
to meet her, his eyes eagerly taking in her beauty and 
charm. “ I’m afraid I can never find you when you’re 
not busy with something,” he said. “ But I know it’s 
your way to be busy. I remember you of old, you see. 
If one doesn’t break into work, there’s no getting you 
at all.” 

Dorothy smiled as she gave him her hand which he 
held closely for a moment; but no longer than was 
wise; to be effusive would have lost his chance, he 
feared. She seated herself, and he took a chair near 
her. When five minutes later a knot of students came 
in and picked up some of the papers on the table, the 
two were talking in the easiest way upon subjects most 
impersonal. They lowered their tones courteously as 
the girls hovered over the great table in the middle of 
the room. Then one girl took up her periodical and 
walked with it to the seats at the further end of the 
room, and the others followed her example. After- 
ward more girls came in, some of whom spoke to 
Bridges, he having been introduced to them on one of 
his previous visits. 

After ten minutes of this kind of interruption, he 
said to Dorothy: “It’s too fine a day to stay indoors. 
What do you say to a walk? Do come,” he added as 
she hesitated. 

“ I should like to go,” she answered. “ There’s 
no reason why I should not. You’ve hit upon a day 


SOME ONE ASKS A QUESTION 205 

when I’m not crowded. But we must be back in an 
hour,” she added. “ I shall have to study then.” 

“ Is that so ? ” asked Bridges sympathetically. 
“ Well, we’ll get home all right, in good time.” 

“ Then I’ll go,” she decided. 

“ That’s fine ! ” he said. “ And let’s be off. Please 
go and put on your duds and we’ll get the best of the 
day. Wrap up well,” he added trying to keep the hap- 
piness out of his tones. “ It’s cold.” 

“ I know it is. I like it,” she called back as she left 
him, to make ready for a walk she was not soon to 
forget. 

The sky was a brilliant blue and nearly cloudless. 
As they started, the sidewalks were bare as city streets 
are in winter, except immediately after a snow-storm, 
and the snow tumbled into the streets, lay piled and 
down-trodden and blackened by contact with soil and 
travel. But soon they turned into less frequented 
ways. Here it lay piled at the edges of the sidewalks 
with now and then a touch of its pristine purity, and 
the walks were slippery in places where the snow had 
partially melted and then frozen again into ice. 

At first they walked swiftly, and then as he slack- 
ened, went on at a moderate pace, both delighting in 
the exhilarating air and in the motion. At first they 
talked and laughed gayly. But as Bridges’s anxiety 
grew upon him, his words came with more difficulty, 
and at last he fell into a mere response to what Doro- 
thy was saying. She had come out for change and 
amusement; and at first she was half annoyed at her 
companion’s mood. But after a time it began to em- 


206 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


barrass her. Finally, when he fell actually silent for 
several minutes together, she said to him with a laugh : 

“You must be going to sleep, Mr. Bridges. I’m 
afraid I’ve been walking you too fast and too far.” 

“ * Asleep ’ ! ” he answered her. And there was no 
evidence of this in his tones. “ It’s the walking I was 
thinking about,” he said — “how well your step and 
mine fit each other. It’s a sign we ought to walk to- 
gether.” 

“ Well, aren’t we doing it? ” she said lightly, some- 
thing in his tone making her still embarrassed. 

“ Oh, not like this merely. But on and on, and al- 
ways,” he answered. Then all at once he turned and 
faced her. 

“Don’t you know what I mean, Dorothy?” he 
cried. “ I mean let us walk through life together, you 
and I. I’ll try to make things good for you always, 
I love you so much. Say you will. Say you will 
marry me, Dorothy.” He was standing now in the 
deserted street, his eyes fixed upon her face entreat- 
ingly. “ Say ‘ yes 9 to me, Dorothy,” he implored. 
“ Say you will marry me.” 

Involuntarily, she had shrunk away from him as 
she caught her breath at his words. 

“Oh, no! no!” she cried. “Not that! I don’t 
want that at all. I’ve not come to it. I don’t feel like 
that at all. You are the kindest friend. I don’t see 
how anybody can be kinder, Mr. Bridges. But I 
haven’t come to marrying anybody; I just like you so 
very, very much. Let us be friends, just as we are. 
We’re so happy now.” 

“Do you think I am happy?” he answered her. 


SOME ONE ASKS A QUESTION 207 

“We cannot go on as we are now,” he added with a 
ring of determination in his tones. “ You must see 
that.” He stood a moment studying her troubled face, 
and a gentleness came into his own. “ But I’ve spoken 
too abruptly,” he said. “ You can’t imagine how hard 
it is not to speak. I’ve startled you. But it’s not been 
sudden to me, you see. It’s been in my heart ever 
since the first day I saw you. How could a fellow help 
it?” 

She turned to him, the trouble in her face deepened. 
He had loved her all this time. And she? How self- 
ish she had been! She tried to speak, but he inter- 
rupted her. 

“ Don’t answer me now,” he said. “ Think it over. 
Wait.” 

But in reply to this she laid her hand on his arm 
and looked at him firmly. 

“No, no; we must not leave it in that way,” she 
said. “ It’s not right; it’s not fair to you. I shall not 
change my mind about this. I’ve been a wicked, self- 
ish girl, Mr. Bridges, not to have understood before 
how I feel. But, truly, I did not. I like you so much, 
I could not tell the difference until you spoke. Then 
I knew. Oh, yes, I do know,” she repeated sadly. 
“ Nothing in me comes out to meet you — in that way. 
I know I do not want it. I’m so grieved to give you 
pain when you deserve only happiness.” 

“ Well, I expect you to give me happiness some 
Iday,” he answered. “You said you were not ready 
for what I asked you. That is it; you are not ready. 
I will wait.” 

“ Yes; that is true. But it is not all,” she said very 


208 DOROTHY BROOKE ' AT RIDGEMORE 


gently. “ I can’t explain. But you must not wait for 
me to change. I’m quite sure the right feeling won’t 
come, or it would be here now, I’ve such a regard for 
you. You have much to forgive me for, Mr. Bridges.” 

Tears were running down her cheeks as she looked 
up at him. 

“Let us not say another word now, Dorothy,” he 
answered, “except that I’ve nothing to forgive you 
for, dear child; but much to bless you for. I’ve 
spoken too soon, and too abruptly. It was so hard to 
be silent,” he repeated to himself in a tone that she 
caught. “ But think it over, Dorothy, because I love 
you so much. I believe I can make you happy.” 

She sighed. “ Yes, I will think it over,” she 
promised him. “But I am sure it will be no differ- 
ent. I’ve not come to that, as I told you. And if I 
had, it would not be you, else it would be you 
now.” 

“You can’t tell,” he said insistently. “You have 
promised me to think it over.” 

“ I will,” she answered him as they turned 'and be- 
gan to walk homeward slowly and thoughtfully, with 
a word now and then and long silences. 

But when he looked at her and saw tears on her 
face, he grew more cheerful and talked more. He 
hated to have her cry for him. Yet was it not a good 
sign? 

He bade her good-by at the door of the house, re- 
calling to her her promise to think over what he had 
said, and telling her hopefully that it would all come 
right. 



HE BADE HER GOOD-BY AT THE DOOR 





SOME ONE ASKS A QUESTION 209 

Dorothy did not appear at dinner that evening. She 
had a bad headache; she had cried herself into it. She 
had always condemned a girl who had kept a young 
man dangling about her to show her conquest, and 
then had refused him. And now she had done this — - 
no, not quite this. She had not wanted to show her 
conquest, or been indifferent to Mr. Bridges. As she 
looked backward she saw that he had been careful and 
discreet and had not really given her opportunity to 
refuse him before he asked her. But she ought to have 
known her own mind long ago and have found some 
way to make it plain. But in this assertion she did not 
make sufficient allowance for the fact that she had not 
really understood her own feelings until his sudden de- 
mand had revealed them to her. She would think it 
over, as she had promised him to do; but if she 
thought it over forever, how could she marry a man 
she did not love with all her heart, but only liked very 
much indeed? 

Bridges believed that she would grow to love him. 
But Dorothy did not believe it. 

At that moment something that Mrs. Claflin had! 
said in one of her famous talks to the girls came back 
to her. She seemed to see before her her old teacher’s 
face, amused in spite of its earnestness. “ Young 
ladies,” she had said on that memorable morning, “ if 
you’re not sure that you could live in perfect happi- 
ness with a man without a thought of getting tired of 
him, for a week, a month, at the Eddystone Light- 
house or anywhere else quite as desolate, where you’d 
not see another person or thing in all that time, or 


2io DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


care if you did not — if you’re not sure of this, don’t 
marry him.” 

Dorothy was afraid that she would get tired of a 
solid month of Charley Bridges without any diversion 
whatever. It was a test she was not at present pre- 
pared to try. She would never have to try it with any- 
body of course. Still — she understood now what Mrs. 
Claflin had meant. 

“ I don’t want anybody at all — there ! ” she said to 
herself vehemently. “ I won’t have anybody ! I won’t 
say ‘ yes ’ to anybody ” 


XXIII 


WHISPERED WORDS 

Priscy Pell knocked at Grace Longley’s door. 
“Are you busy?” she asked, opening it at the sum- 
mons to enter. 

“Yes; busy wanting to see you,” answered Grace 
smiling at her. 

Priscy walked in, closed the door carefully and 
came up to Grace. 

“What do you think it means?” she asked, her 
bright eyes upon the other’s face. 

“ What do I think what means? ” 

“ Now, Grace, you needn’t play off; it’s not like. you. 
You know perfectly well I’m asking you what you 
think is the matter with Mr. Bridges and Dorothy? 
Unless he has the measles, or some illness or other, 
there must be something odd between them. Doesn’t 
it look like that to you?” 

“ It does,” assented Grace. 

“ You see, he’s not been here for two weeks,” pur- 
sued Pell-Mell. “ That’s unprecedented since the 
early autumn. Something’s up.” 

“ Or somebody’s down,” returned Grace. 

“ Either they’ve quarreled, or she has refused him, 
Grace. I’m sure of it.” 

“Dorothy is not given to quarreling, Pell-Mell.” 

“ Oh, no. But then she’s what I used to call 
211 


2i2 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


‘ spunky’ before I came to boarding school. He may 
have offended her.” 

“ Or he may really have some very important busi- 
ness on hand that keeps him away.” 

Priscy laughed. “ He hasn’t any business so im- 
portant as Dorothy; you must have seen that. And, 
as you say, she’s not given to quarreling. No, she 
has refused him. The last time he came was that day 
they went to walk together. She didn’t come down to 
dinner on account of headache; and the next morning 
there was a red rim round her eyes — not much, but I 
saw it. She had been crying.” 

“ Dear Dorothy, she had hurt his feelings ; and I 
suppose that hurt hers.” 

“ Really, it’s a pity to be quite so tender-hearted,” 
retorted Priscy. “Men are tough creatures, anyway; 
they can stand it.” 

“ One would think you’d had a large experience of 
men’s hard-heartedness, Pell-Mell.” And Grace, in 
spite of her solicitude as to the state of affairs be- 
tween Dorothy and Mr. Bridges, smiled at her com- 
panion. 

“A little observation does a great deal,” returned 
the other. “ And Mr. Bridges is very nice, but I sus- 
pect he’s not going to break his heart for any woman. 
But do you think she has refused him, Grace?” she 
added. “ I wish I knew. I like to be settled in my 
mind.” 

“ You certainly never will be, unless you get Mr. 
Bridges to tell you,” laughed Grace. “ Dorothy never 
will.” 


WHISPERED WORDS 


213 


“ Not in words, I know. But I’m half a Yankee; 
I can guess a few things. At any rate, she is begin- 
ning to recover. She doesn’t seem so doleful as she 
did. By her looks those first two days you’d have 
thought he had refused her. Dorothy is queer. She’s 
great for following out that Scripture precept of bear- 
ing one another’s burdens; she appears to have been 
carrying all his sufferings on her shoulders. Now I 
know you’re glad in your heart, Grace ; you can’t help 
being, though you look so sympathetic.” 

“Of course, I think of Ned; though I don’t know 
now whether he’s more than a dear friend; I can’t 
make him out. But I do pity Mr. Bridges. I’d pity 
anybody who wanted Dorothy, and couldn’t get her.” 

“ I believe you would,” returned the other looking 
with a certain admiration at the delicate face with a 
sweetness of expression that gave it a beauty all its 
own. “But mark my words,” she continued; “if 
he’s not here for another week, you may be dead sure 
she has re ” 

A sharp knock at the door cut short her words, and 
a sophomore, in which class they now were, came in to 
discuss a topic of one of the next day’s lessons; and 
the three were soon busy over college matters. 

Could Dorothy have sat down and written out the 
whole affair to her mother, it would have been such 
a relief. But it was bad enough, she thought, to have 
allowed so good a man as Mr. Bridges to come to the 
point of asking her to marry him and being refused, 
without her parading the matter to any one, even her 


214 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

mother to whom she told everything, that is, all her 
own matters. 

She missed Bridges’ presence also, he was so cheer- 
ful; and she winced at the glances, and comments 
sometimes intended for her ears upon the sudden ces- 
sation of that gentleman’s visits. But she bore herself 
with a pride that was sometimes haughtiness, and no 
one ventured to question her, or to joke with her over 
this defection. After a while, as Priscy had said, she 
recovered her spirits. College matters helped this on. 
Studies were going uncommonly well; she was doing 
much better as a junior than she had done as a sopho- 
more; and as to her last thesis, Professor Whitehall 
had talked with her about it. He had asked to see 
her first two essays again, and had revised them, ex- 
plaining enough of the truth to her to give her quick 
;wit opportunity to work out the rest. 

Ned had read over to her the story he had written 
at her entreaty for Mr. Harris. She had admired it, 
yet had ventured to suggest a few changes, and had 
been flattered and gratified by his readiness in making 
these. The study of the drama had gone on with 
benefit and delight to both, and their collaboration also 
had given them excellent practice in the principles they 
were assimilating. The winter was passing pleas- 
antly and profitably to them and to others, while Char- 
ley Bridges not in despair as to Dorothy’s final accept- 
ance of himself, in spite of her assurances, was at 
home once more, trying to make the best of a life that 
at present was embittered by her refusal. 

Mrs. Bridges had kept a keen watch upon Dorothy’s 


WHISPERED WORDS 


215 


movements since the discovery that the girl was born 
in the very inner circle of society into which she her- 
self craved an entrance. She more than suspected 
that her son’s devotion to his father’s business was 
stimulated if not wholly induced by his desire to be 
near this girl whom she would now have welcomed 
with enthusiasm. But her son felt that his cause 
would not be bettery with Dorothy by any allusions 
to or interference from his mother, even in her most 
gracious mood. Indeed, when she intended to be gra- 
cious, she was often as absurd as in disapprobation she 
was offensive. As a result, she could only guess at the 
state of affairs which, however, she did with a shrewd- 
ness that added to the young man’s discomfort. For 
she inveighed against Dorothy’s stupidity in not ap- 
preciating Charley’s value, personal as well as finan- 
cial. He would say nothing to her of his hopes, and 
she did not guess at them. He reflected that winter 
that quite a number of millions piled up in a heap 
could not spell happiness, they had too many ciphers 
to count in that word; and he waited to see if time 
would not bring Dorothy to a knowledge of her own 
heart, and if in it she could not then find at least 
enough of himself upon which to build for his future 
success? 

A month went by, and Ridgemore College saw not 
Bridges. 

It was the middle of February, that month of 
storms. The month, however, was at the moment 
showing itself in all ways dazzlingly brilliant to some 


21 6 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


for whom it held in reserve a storm destined to make 
their house of joy tremble to its foundations. 

One evening there was an informal reception at 
Ridgemore, and Ned Longley together with other stu- 
dents and a good sprinkling of outsiders, was there. 
It had been a jovial crowd. Ned had enjoyed every 
moment. Yet his had not been an enjoyment in keep- 
ing with the merriment of the evening. He had spent 
much of his time in watching Dorothy, as unobtru- 
sively as possible. He had never seen her look more 
attractive, or seem in happier mood. The thought of 
her filled him, even while he was talking to others and 
appearing to be listening to them. 

The company was breaking up; the guests were 
gradually moving toward the door and the students of 
Ridgemore little by little following, for the words of 
farewell and the flash of wit in which some brilliant 
guest would make his exit. 

But Ned had fallen behind; he still lingered, loth 
to go. For at the -moment Dorothy who all the even- 
ing had flitted about the room was standing near him. 
As she looked at him and spoke to him, he saw that 
somewhat of the happiness of her mood was due to 
her anticipation of the treat to come on the following 
evening. He thought her gown must be unusually 
becoming, and her face was radiant as she looked up 
at him, still speaking of what was to come on the mor- 
row. 

“ I hope it will be fair weather,” said Ned. 

“ But you don't expect us to mind a storm?” she 
asked. “ No postponement on account of weather.” 


WHISPERED WORDS 


217 


“ Surely not ! ” he returned. “ But you girls, you 
know, won’t want to spoil your duds — your good duds 
— in a storm.” 

Dorothy laughed outright. 

“ How well Grace has trained you,” she retorted, 
the merriment still in her tones. Then her look left 
him and turned upon Grace who at the opposite end 
of the room was standing beside Priscy and laughing 
at Mr. Norris’ parting speeches. And as Dorothy 
gazed, a beautiful expression came into her eyes. 
“Dear Grace!” she said softly, more to herself than 
to him. 

All the evening he had been realizing more and 
more what she was to him. In the crowd he had been 
safe from speech, and when at last he had found him- 
self for the moment practically alone with her at the 
upper end of the room, he had still spoken lightly, 
hiding the emotion that filled him. But even then he 
had seemed to be living over again those moments in 
the terrible water when the waves had all but forced 
them into death ; and he was remembering that at that 
moment he had known that it would be better to be 
swept to death with her than to try to live without 
her. He had been wondering that evening how he 
had been able to keep silence all the succeeding 
months; for the tide had risen in his heart and the 
words had beaten so hard against his lips that it needed 
but opportunity to have them utter themselves. 

In the exit that moved the company continually 
nearer the door the opportunity came. For the mo- 
ment within a small radius he stood quite alone with 


218 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


Dorothy. Yet he was still mindful of place and time, 
he still kept the lightness of his tone, until after her 
look at Grace she once more turned her eyes upon him 
calling for his sympathy in her appreciation. There 
was something so lovely in her look, in the beautiful 
soul smiling at him out of her eyes, that his own soul 
sprang to meet it, and broke the bars of silence. He 
drew close, and bent his head to hers, until his lips all 
but touched the dainty ear so near them. 

“ Oh, Dorothy, my darling ! my darling ! ” he whis- 
pered. “ How I love you! love you! I can think of 
nothing in life without you. If we had gone down in 
the undertow last summer, we should still have been 
together. I can think of nothing in life, Dorothy, un- 
less we are together, always, always together. There 
is no life but that to me. Don’t you •” 

“ Come on, Longley!” called Norris loudly across 
the space between them. The speaker had his back 
to Ned and had not of purpose cut off the words upon 
his lips. 

Ned looked up suddenly, feeling as if in that in- 
stant he had traveled illimitable distance and realizing 
now that the space about them that in his moment of 
isolation with Dorothy had seemed vast, was very 
small. He withdrew a little from her. Then wheel- 
ing, he faced her, and in doing this he turned his back 
upon the others in the room who at Norris’ call had 
looked toward them. For an instant he flashed a 
glance into her eyes, the light of love in his own. 

“To-morrow evening,” he said to her softly; then 
dropped his gaze and turned away. Others were 


WHISPERED WORDS 


219 


watching; he feared that already he had betrayed 
himself to them and brought embarrassment to her. 
He dared not trust himself to utter another word, to 
take her hand in farewell. He could not do it calmly. 
He moved away and left her standing there motion- 
less. 

But now that he had broken his resolve to be silent 
■until his college days should be over, he would say all 
to her to-morrow; he would have her answer; even 
with others about them he would find a way; as they 
were going home, he would draw her aside for a 
little. He hoped, he feared what was to come. He 
had not given her time to answer his glance by any 
glance of encouragement, if she had had such thought. 
He had known that others were watching her. 

“ To-morrow! To-morrow!” he said to himself, 
his heart beating tumultuously with alternate hope and 
fear. “To-morrow! To-morrow! ” he repeated over 
and over. 

How little could he forecast that morrow! How 
little he dreamed of its burden! 

When he had gone, Dorothy forced herself to move, 
to go forward, to talk, to wait until the quiet of her 
own room should give her time to think — to hear 
again those words beating back and forth in her con- 
sciousness, as if the air about her were charged with 
them and held nothing else. 

She did not know where she stood. She did not 
know what she felt. All life was bright around her. 


XXIV 


A THEATRE PARTY 

“ Dorothy, come straight into my room. I want to 
show you something,” called Priscy Pell beating a 
tattoo on her friend’s door late the following after- 
noon. 

“You’re in a frightful hurry, Pell-Mell,” laughed 
Dorothy allowing herself to be seized and dragged 
into the other’s room, where she stood wide eyed for 
an instant, and then burst out: 

“ Why, Colonel Pell ! Priscy said I was to come to 
see someTHING ! ” 

“ I suppose she looked upon me up here in the light 
of smuggled goods,” he retorted, giving Dorothy’s 
hand a warm clasp and then turning to Grace whom 
his daughter was pushing laughingly into the room, 
hands on shoulders. 

“ Why, papa ! ” she cried. “ Miss Gaynor told you 
you could come up for a little while. He had been 
called to the city unexpectedly,” she went on to her 
two friends. “ I just telephoned Ned that papa had 
come and I would stay at home to see him. But he 
said, indeed, I should not. Bring Colonel Pell along; 
he couldn’t be spared on any account; he’d be the 
youngest fellow in the lot. Ned remembers him up at 
the mountains; he was pretty boyish there.” And 
220 


A THEATRE PARTY 


22 1 


Priscy laughed, while the shadow on her face at cer- 
tain recollections of that summer passed as lightly as 
a summer cloud in the blue. “ If we’d known before- 
hand,” she went on, “ we could have cut Mrs. Cutter. 
No chaperon needed when one has a parent.” 

“ Or another person’s parent,” added Grace smil- 
ing. 

“ Do sit down, girls,” entreated Pell-Mell. 

But both refused. She must have her father all to 
herself for a time. 

“ I’ll tell you what,” he said. “ Priscilla is going 
out to dinner with me somewhere near. Let me have 
three daughters for the nonce, and both of you come 
with us. We’ll go early and have a scrappy meal, and 
get back in time to dress for the theatre. It’s Long- 
ley’s treat, isn’t it? And I understand he has a box. 
He has done it up well.” 

“ He always does,” returned Priscy enthusiastically. 
At which Grace gave her an approving glance. 

The dinner was a very merry one, and good, in spite 
of its being most informal. The girls returned in 
time to prepare for this theatre party to see a famous 
actor, a delight to which they had been looking for- 
ward for two weeks. For Ned had not been able to 
satisfy himself in regard to arrangements at shorter 
notice. This was his special extravagance of the win- 
ter and he was most desirous that everything should 
go off well. Colonel Pell was a great acquisition, for 
he was never more delightful than with young people, 
and through the motor-car excursion of a year and a 
half previous, he knew well all Ned’s guests except 


222 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


Mrs. Cutter. The young man perceived that with 
Colonel Pell’s quick eyes and sharp ears speech with 
Dorothy might be more difficult to contrive. But he 
rose to the occasion with a fervor presaging the mo- 
ment that would bring him happiness, or misery. But 
he would not think of misery now; it should not ob- 
trude its nightmare into his dreams of bliss. 

Colonel Pell took himself off for a talk with Ned 
and Rex while the girls were making those wonderful 
toilettes which seemed of the greatest importance to 
them, and were so immensely becoming that the 
wearers looked more dignified and charming than in 
their everyday gowns. Also it was as necessary to 
honor Ned’s occasion as to have the joy of donning 
the pretty gowns; and it became a real joy to them as 
at Colonel Pell’s request they exhibited themselves to 
him when he had returned to Ridgemore. Priscy was 
in lavender, a color which her step-mother had taught 
her to like; Grace instead of her pale blue gown which 
would have assorted badly with this, wore a rich 
cardinal which harmonized admirably. Dorothy was 
in white with the same pink coral ornaments that she 
had worn at Elinor Morris’ wedding. 

She was afraid to meet Ned again; yet she was 
constantly looking for him. But when he came there 
would be so many others that he could say nothing 
more to her alone. And yet he had told her with his 
eyes, his voice that he would; and, somehow, he had 
always succeeded in doing what he had said he would 
do. 

And if he spoke, as he would; and if he asked her 


A THEATRE PARTY 


223 

that question of questions, as he would do, what 
should she answer him ? She did not know. She re- 
fused to try to read the depths of her own heart. It 
was not time yet; she had not to answer yet. With 
a slightly heightened color and a spontaneous gayety, 
she turned to those about her. 

“ I shall crowd you all in the box,” Colonel Pell had 
said. “ I’ll find a seat somewhere in the house, and 
come to you between the acts.” 

But nobody would hear of this. 

Norris was the only person secretly sorry to see 
Priscy’s father. He knew that he must, as he said to 
himself, keep his attentions to Priscy down to the fine 
point of diffident interest, which he should not enjoy. 
The girl was getting quite irresistible, and he did not 
think it would harm her to let her know it — especially 
if he were to be the one to tell her. But that would 
not suit Colonel Pell. And Norris’ memories of that 
summer in which for a time he had joined Rex’s party, 
made him resolve to be cautious. However, there was 
plenty of opportunity for a good time within the pre- 
scribed limits. 

Ned having-* first to seat his guests, did not secure 
the place beside Dorothy that he had planned for. 
Colonel Pell took it, and glanced across at him with a 
mischief in his eyes that declared he knew more of the 
situation than the latter wished. There might be a 
change of places between the acts; but even then, the 
box was too full for a word to pass unnoticed by 
others. Ned told himself again that as they were go- 
ing home he would speak, even if he held her back 


224 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

when the rest entered the house; he must have his ex- 
planation. He must ask her at once to be his wife. 

And if she should say “yes ” ! 

His pulses bounded. He stole a glance at her; and 
the sight of her and the possibility of such joy swept 
him into silence. 

The play was good ; the acting still better ; the com- 
pany in the box disposed to view everything in its 
happiest light. Many eyes in the house were directed 
to the beautiful girls, the handsome young men, the 
elderly lady of gracious manners, the middle-aged man 
of distinguished appearance whom some recognized 
as a scientist of note. More than one half-envious 
sigh arose at the sight of persons with whom life was 
flowing so happily. 

“ This is the way he ought to have looked when he 
made his sentimental speech,” said Norris at the end 
of the first act. And he imitated one of the actors so 
cleverly and at the same time burlesqued him so well, 
turning his back to the house as he did it, that the 
others were nearly convulsed. 

“ Pray, don’t be as funny as you can — out of kind- 
ness to us,” pleaded Mrs. Cutter, tears of laughter on 
her face. 

“Oh, just go ahead,” said Priscy very softly; she 
was sitting next him. And Norris went ahead, still 
keeping his face so that those in the box, and not in 
the house, could see him. 

The second act kept them all busy watching it. 
The hero was getting more and more tangled up in a 
web of falsehoods woven about him, and the contriver 


A THEATRE PARTY 


225 

seemed to be tightening the threads. Norris tried no 
imitations in the interlude ; he had long since declared 
that he had determined to resemble Shakespeare in one 
respect at least — not to repeat. The comments were 
chiefly about the play; and the curtain soon rose for 
the third time. 

The actors were more and more holding their audi- 
ence, and the young people more than once forgot 
themselves in the intensity of their interest in what 
was doing upon the stage. 

“ You’re giving us such a treat!” cried Priscy im- 
pulsively bending forward to Ned as the next wait 
came. 

His face lighted with pleasure. “ Pm so glad you 
like it,” he answered. “ I hope your father is not 
bored.” 

“If he is, he ought to be,” declared the girl, and 
was about to ask him, when he said to all three 
girls : 

“ Mrs. Pell had a letter from Elinor yesterday, Eli- 
nor Morris — Mrs. Knight. They are having a fine 
winter out in California. They want your mamma 
and me to come to visit them,” he added to Priscy. 
“ But Em sure I don’t know where we should find 
them, if we did. They’ve been cavorting all over the 
state in a motor car, and are still at it. Whether 
Knight is attending to his engineering business, or they 
are finding out where they want to settle, I can’t tell. 
But whichever it is, they seem to have been having a 
fine time of it.” 

“ I thought they seemed as if they knew how, when 


226 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


I met them at Mount Rest,” answered Ned with a 
laugh. 

“ Didn’t they ! ” cried Dorothy, her eyes laughing. 

“ They didn’t have a monopoly though,” declared 
Priscy. “ What with typewriter girls and young men 
that made love to young women by talking to them 
about the fellows they were engaged to, and a few 
other illusions, to which Mr. Norris if he had been 
there would have added zest, nobody seemed very 
slow.” 

“ It seems to me I heard there were a few who 
didn’t catch on?” observed Norris. 

Priscy nodded at him in affirmation, and her 
dimples came out bewitchingly. 

“Speaking of motoring,” said Ned, “that’s what 
our father and mother are doing at this moment. 
They’ve quite a trip planned out. Father had to go on 
business, and it’s so lonely for mother when we’re 
both away, he persuaded her to go with him. It’s a 
fine scheme. They were to start two days ago; so, 
they must be well on their way by this time. He 
promised to send us word every once in a while where 
they were and how things were going. I should think 
that it was time now to hear from them,” he added. 

“ But you don’t feel anxious about not having 
heard, do you, Ned?” inquired Grace, leaning for- 
ward with the shadow of a cloud upon her face. 

“Never!” he answered nodding back at her smil- 
ingly. 

And the talk turned to other subjects. 

Just as the mimic world opened before them again, 


A THEATRE PARTY 


227 

a messenger boy appeared at the door of the bgx. He 
held a yellow envelope in his hand. 

“ Mr. Longley?” he asked. 

“ Ah ! There it is now ! ” cried Ned taking the tele- 
gram eagerly. “ Now we’ll know just where they are. 
How did you find me ? ” he asked the boy as he was 
signing the receipt. 

“ Some of the fellers at the college,” explained the 
latter laconically as he turned on his heel and van- 
ished. 

Before glancing at the stage Ned tore open the en- 
velope, a smile on his lips. 

And then he never saw the stage. 

Grace who was sitting before him reached backward 
to take the paper from his hand. But he held it away 
from her. Her eyes were upon the stage and she 
thought his action merely not to interrupt the scene. 

Dorothy, however, saw his face as if it were set in 
stone. He laid a hand on Rex’s arm; and the two 
went out into the corrider. 

“ What is it ? ” cried Grace ; and she sprang up to 
follow. 

But Colonel Pell held her back. 

“ It’s nothing,” he whispered. “ Some class affair. 
They’ll manage it.” 

But he had seen Longley’s face. 


-XXV 


A TELEGRAM 

In the corridor Longley staggered rather than 
leaned against the wall and without a word held out 
the telegram to Rex. The latter read it with a low 
cry of horror, turned pale, and with the paper still in 
his hand looked at Ned. 

“ How terrible ! ” he said. “ How terrible, Long- 
ley. It can’t be true ! Poor old fellow ! ” And his 
voice broke. 

Ned still stared before him, as if he saw only the 
horror conjured up by the telegram. 

A slight sound, a soft movement, and Dorothy 
stood there looking from one to another in wondering 
distress. 

“ What is it?” she asked, and reached for the tele- 
gram and caught it from Rex’s hand before he was 
aware of her purpose. He tried to snatch it from her; 
but for an instant she held it off, and the words 
stamped themselves upon her brain as if a flash of 
lightning had seared them there : 

“ Bad automobile accident . Mr. Longley killed in- 
stantly. Mrs. Longley seriously, perhaps fatally, in- 
jured. Taken to hospital. Come immediately.” 

228 


A TELEGRAM 


229 


It was signed by the hospital physician and came 
from a city miles away from the home that the trav- 
elers had left so happily two days before. They 
would have been at a still greater distance, had not 
Mr. Longley’s business detained him by the way. 

Dorothy stifled a sob and coming close to Ned, laid 
her hands upon his arm and looked up into his face, 
tears running down her cheeks. She could not speak; 
sobs had conquered her. 

He looked back at her almost as if he did not 
recognize her. It was not as her lover that he looked 
at her in that instant when the very foundations of his 
life were shaken; it was as Grace’s friend. 

“You will look after her?” he said the next mo- 
ment. “ I must go to them.” He turned to go down 
the corridor, and Rex also turned. 

But at the moment the door of the box opened 
again, and Grace came out followed closely by Colonel 
Pell. She moved toward Ned. But Dorothy thrust 
the telegram back into Rex’s hand and caught her in 
her arms, holding her firmly. Grace tried to push her 
away, but she clung. 

“Let me go! Let me go, Dorothy!” cried the 
other. “ Something is wrong. I will know. I have 
a right. Let me go to Ned.” 

He heard her, and looked at Dorothy with a glance 
that made the girl resolve to hold Grace at all costs. 
He could not bear his sister’s eyes upon him and her 
arms about him, and her questions. He must not give 
way. He must act. 

“ Listen to me, Grace,” she said. “ I’m going to 


2 3 o DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

tell you.” And she held her still more closely. “ The 
motor car went wrong. Your mother is hurt. 
She ” 

“She is much hurt?” cried the girl, her look 
trying to pierce into Dorothy’s soul and read its 
secret. 

“Yes; a good deal, darling. Ned is going to her. 
Don’t keep him.” 

“Yes, he shall go; and I shall go with him,” re- 
turned Grace struggling once more to free herself 
from Dorothy and go to her brother. “ Let me go ! ” 
she cried again. “ You are cruel.” 

“Wait!” said Colonel Pell, who had just read the 
telegram. And he pushed her gently back to Dorothy. 
“ I must find when the train starts,” he said. “ I 
think there is a late one.” And he took out his path- 
finder; for he was too much of a traveler to be with- 
out means of looking up trains at any time. And 
while he searched, Dorothy told Grace of the city on 
the outskirts of which the accident had taken place, 
and the hospital at which her mother was. 

“ I’m going with him,” she repeated. “ I must see 
her. And poor Ned — to go alone!” It was strange 
that she had not yet thought to make inquiry for her 
father. But she had supposed the telegram from 
him. 

“ He is not going alone,” said Colonel Pell to the 
agonized girl. He spoke with a gentleness of which 
Dorothy had rightly believed him capable. “ I am go- 
ing with him. We’ve only time to catch the train — 
barely time, dear child. If we tried to take you, we 


A TELEGRAM 


231 


should miss it. If you delay us, we shall miss it. 
You shall have a telegram as soon as we arrive, I 
promise you.” For an instant he held he little cold 
hands in a clasp fatherly in its kindness. Then he 
turned in haste. 

“ Come, Longley,” he said. “ We’ve not a minute 
to spare.” 

As the two disappeared down the corridor, the 
whole party gathered about Grace; for Norris had 
looked out, to recieve a whispered word from Rex. 

“ Hush ! She doesn’t know all yet,” the latter whis- 
pered in turn to Mrs. Cutter and Priscy. “ Be care- 
ful!” 

Rex put the four ladies into a carriage; and he and 
Norris went back to their college, feeling that to leave 
them was the kindest thing possible at present. 

Thus they who had gone forth so blithely returned 
hurried and in infinite sadness. 

It was not until she was in her own room where 
Dorothy begged to be allowed to pass the night with 
her, that Grace awoke to the full extent of her loss. 
It was only then that she realized that nothing had 
been said of Mr. Longley’s being with her mother. 
But, of course, he was. And yet — Then it was that 
she turned upon Dorothy with the inquiry which the 
latter had dreaded. 

“ Was it my father who sent that telegram, Doro- 
thy? ” she asked. 

“ No, dear; it was the doctor at the hospital.” 

“ Why wasn’t I allowed to see it? What’s the mat- 
ter? Was my father hurt, too? ” 


232 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

Dorothy bowed her head. She could not speak. 
The lump in her throat choked her. 

Grace looked at her wonderingly, keenly, with 
prescience in her gaze. For nearly a minute she sat 
thus in a horrible silence. Suddenly, she shrieked : 

“ My father is dead ! ” and fainted. 

All the outside sights and sounds of that midnight 
ride, sights and sounds to which he was indifferent, 
seemed stamped upon Longley’s consciousness as so 
many hindrances upon the journey at the end of which 
his mind had arrived so long before and his body was 
thus lumbering after it. He spoke not an unnecessary 
word. It was not until they were almost at their desti- 
nation that he remembered to thank Colonel Pell for 
accompanying him. Yet, secretly, he would have pre- 
ferred to come alone. 

They reached the hospital in the morning twilight 
of the winter’s day. The coming brilliance of the 
sunrise seemed to mock the blackness of soul into, 
which Longley had entered. They were admitted at 
the earliest moment. Mrs. Longley was sleeping af- 
ter a night of great suffering. Her son could not see 
her until she awoke. He and Colonel Pell followed 
the nurse into the chauffeur’s room. 

The man had been seriously injured; but it was be- 
lieved not dangerously; it was thought that he would 
undoubtedly recover. His head having received no 
bruises, was clear. There were tears in his eyes as 
he stretched out his hand to Ned, and for a few mo- 
ments he could not control his voice. He had been 


A TELEGRAM 


233 

with the family several years and was unfeignedly at- 
tached to every member of it. 

“ We were going on first-class,” he said releasing 
Ned’s hand, “ when all in a minute something snapped 
in the machine, and the car went wild. I had no more 
hold over it than a baby. It got going sixty miles an 
hour, and I thought I’d get it in hand again, as we had 
a good road ahead of us, when, like a flash, it gave an 
awful skid and we were down at the bottom of a 
twenty-foot bank, twisted up, I don’t know how. I 
only wonder one of us ever drew another breath. How 
is Mrs. Longley this morning? And, oh, your splen- 
did father ! He deserved something better.” 

Ned could get little further information out of him, 
except that the chauffeur was sure that Mr. Longley 
had not lingered to suffer, but had died instantly, as 
the telegram had said. 

When his mother waked, Ned went to her. He fol- 
lowed the nurse through rooms that seemed endless, 
yet they were to him a respite. He dreaded to arrive 
where he longed to be. 

He thought that he had prepared himself for the 
very worst. But the sight of his mother almost over- 
whelmed him. For an instant he feared that he 
should stagger, that he should enter her presence over- 
come by his grief and horror at her appearance. For 
it almost seemed to him as if now she had gone to the 
other world to join the husband she so deeply loved, 
so motionless was she, and so awful was the pallor of 
her face. It seemed as if in the few hours since her 


234 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

accident she had wasted away and the hand seen above 
the coverlet looked thin as from long illness. Directly 
after the accident she had lain long unconscious and 
then had aroused to agonizing pain. When the doctors 
had succeeded in relieving this, she had fallen into a 
troubled sleep. She had but now awakened, and Ned 
had been called to her bedside. 

As he bent over her and kissed her, murmuring her 
name, her fingers moved to hold his hand. Perceiving 
this, he put it within her clasp. She was fully con- 
scious. 

“ Ned, my boy!” she said faintly. The effort 
seemed to exhaust her. She lay silent awhile with 
closed eyes. 

After a time she opened them and said more dis- 
tinctly, “ Ned, bring your father.” 

The young man turned almost as pale as she was. 
He had been warned by the doctor that any shock to 
his mother in her present state would be likely to be 
fatal to her. 

“ He is not able to come to you, mamma dear,” he 
answered her softly. 

“ He is very much hurt? ” 

“Yes, darling, very much.” 

“ As much as I am? ” 

“ Yes, as much as you are.” 

“ More than I am, Ned? ” 

He dropped his eyes from the keenness of her look 
and was silent for an instant. 

In that instant she read him. 

“You turn away your eyes, so I may not know,” 


A TELEGRAM 


235 


she added with a calmness that surprised him. “ But 
I do know. He is dead.” Then all at once a terrible 
anxiety flashed into her face. “Tell me! Tell me! ” 
she cried in a tone so full of despair that he trembled 
to hear it. “ Tell me it is not true. He is living — • 
living? ” 

She watched with intensity of emotion to see him 
lift his eyes to hers, and with the light of joy in them, 
deny her assertion. 

Instead, he sat with face bent down and eyes upon 
the white hand that lay clasped in his own. 

“Ah! he is dead!” she moaned. “Tell me. Tell 
me.” 

“ Yes, mamma,” he said brokenly, “ he is dead.” 

“ I knew it,” she said. “ Or he would have made 
them bring him to me.” She lay for a moment calmer 
than he had expected her to be. Then she spoke 
softly. 

“ I shall soon be with him,” she said. 

Her listener’s face was convulsed with' agony. 

“Oh, mamma!” he cried. “Think of Grace! 
Think of me ! Live for us ! ” 

She lay again silent. Then she said very low : 

“Ah, I forgot! My children! Indeed, I will re- 
member them. He would want it,” she added as if 
to herself. 

But her son heard her. And he dared to hope. 


XXVI 


MRS. LONGLEY 

“ Mother dear,” wrote Dorothy, 

“ My time and my heart have been too full to write 
even you, except the word I sent you the day after the 
news that has gone over all the college and saddened 
every girl in it. I see that Grace has been much more 
deeply appreciated than I dreamed of, she is so sure 
never to put herself forward, except when there is 
something she can do for one. 

“ The dean came to see her, and was very kind. She 
was glad to have me come here with her; she said I 
ought to do it. I feel, mother dear, as if I were ten 
years older than the evening we all went to the theatre 
so happy and it seemed as if life had only joy for us. 

“ Grace and I went to Mrs. Longley the next day. 

She is in C ; and if she live, will be there a long 

time, I understand. Ned met us at the station and 
took us to the hospital. He staid with me while Grace 
went to her mother, because the doctor did not wish 
Mrs. Longley to see two at once, that day at least. 
He could not tell further, he would not go further. 
I had an opportunity for a word with him when Ned 
was not there. I believe he thinks that Mrs. Longley 
is going to die. But Ned feels that she will live. Fm 
glad he does, in any event. Forebodings can do no 
236 


MRS. LONGLEY 


237 

good, and they often do harm, and the poor fellow has 
enough to bear. 

“ He left it to Grace to stay here until the funeral 

of Mr. Longley, who will not be taken from C 

until then ; or to go home at once and wait there. She 
chose to stay here where she could be near her mother, 
although she can be with her so little. I could see that 
Ned was glad to have her here; it would be so dreary 
in that desolate house. He has found a quiet hotel 
for us near the hospital. I am with Grace all she can 
bear to have me stay; for I hate to leave her alone, 
except when I think she may sleep, or at least, rest. 

“ She saw her mother again for a few minutes that 
afternoon. Mrs. Longley said several things. One 
was that she hoped soon to be about again, so that her 
children need not suffer anxiety on her account. I 
could hardly keep the tears out of my eyes when I 
heard it. Even Grace does not know yet that if her 
mother rally enough to make it possible, there may 
have to be a serious operation. The doctors fear the 
injury to her spine. But nothing definite can be de- 
cided upon yet. Ned told me, for the relief of speak- 
ing out to somebody, and especially to me who care 
so much. But he asked me not to hint it to Grace at 
present. It is not a certainty, anyway. 

“ You remember my telling you about Jimmy Reid 
who was with us on our motor trip that summer — a 
friend of Ned’s? He has proved so. Ned telephoned 
him the day we came and asked Jimmy to meet him; 
he was coming down to attend to things necessary. 
Jimmy telegraphed back, and telephoned, too, that Ned 


238 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

was to stay with his mother until we all came on with 
his father, and that everything, down to the least de- 
tail should be attended to. So Ned staid here, to Mrs. 
Longley’s great comfort; and it proved that he under- 
stood Jimmy. He and Mrs. White, Mabel’s mother, 
had gone over to the house and staid there most of 
the time. Of course, the servants were in it, for Mr. 
and Mrs. Longley had not expected to be gone more 
than a few days. 

“ Everything was perfectly done. Nothing went 
wrong, or jarred, which must be so hard at such a 
time. All the arrangements spoke interest and sym- 
pathy and the supervision of some one who knew 
how — no, they did not speak of any supervision at all, 
they seemed to move on of themselves — the evidence 
of perfect management I have heard you say. 

“ It seemed as if all the town came to show the last 
honors to Mr. Longley. The family are very much 
respected. * How people did love him ! ’ Grace said 
to me, the tears streaming down her cheeks. * I 
shall always remember that/ But, mother, you can 
imagine what it was, even to me, to come into the 
house in this way when I had been so happy in it! 
And for Grace and Ned! 

“ He goes about looking as if he were carved in 
stone. I’m afraid he will break down altogether, he is 
holding himself in so hard. 

“ After the funeral the lawyer called the family 
into the library — the two who were here and the serv- 
ants — to hear the will read. Every one of these lat- 
ter was remembered. When they all came out and 


MRS. LONGLEY 


239 

Grace, she said that he had kept Ned to tell him some 
details, to help him out, she supposed, in managing 
things. But Eve no confidence in that lawyer — it’s 
Mr. Chesterdown, mother. You know about the 
scene with Dia, and how thoroughly I distrust him. 
But I hope my instincts are wrong for once. Grace 
says they used to have Mr. Gayworthy whom she and 
Ned knew from their childhood; but he died about a 
year ago, and Mr. Longley took Mr. Chesterdown as 
Mr. Gayworthy’ s> successor. The will was made by 
Mr. Gayworthy, and Mrs. Longley is the executrix. 
I’m so glad it’s not this man. It will throw a great 
deal of work upon Ned, but it will leave him more 
free to carry out his mother’s wishes. 

“ I persuaded Grace to go upstairs with me while 
we were waiting for Ned and Mr. Chesterdown to 
finish their talk. I thought it would be easier for her. 
Jimmy Reid came to us in the morning room; he was 
waiting for Ned, too, he said. After a time the front 
door shut hard and we saw the lawyer running 
down the steps to his motor car. Then Ned came 
to us. 

“ ‘ Did he help you out about things ? 9 asked Grace 
going up to him and putting her arms about him. 
‘ He told me some things I had to know,’ he answered 
her. But I saw him look at Jimmy over Grace’s 
shoulder; and pretty soon the two went off together. 
I’m sure something is wrong. 

“ I’m sending you this to-day. You shall hear more 
from me later. Ned is going to see his mother again 
before he returns to college; and he wants me to go 


2 4 o DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

to be with Grace. And I shall go, mother dear; it is 
so little to do at the best. I suppose they will go back 
and forth from college to see Mrs. Longley as they 
can. They are forbidden to be with her much just 
at present; she must be so very quiet, and she would 
want to talk to them. 

“Love to you all, says your dear daughter, Doro- 
thy.” 

Mr. Chesterdown left alone with Ned in the library 
closed the door carefully, and assuming a look of 
sympathy, said to him: 

“ My dear fellow, I’m sorry enough to tell you bad 
news on the top of the crushing weight you already 
have to bear. But the truth is always the kindest in 
the end.” 

“ Yes,” returned Ned, reflecting that at least he 
could tell him of no more deaths of his dearest ones — 
unless — “You’ve no news of my mother?” he asked 
suddenly, his voice hoarse with strain. 

But Mr. Chesterdown shook his head with a smile. 
“ No, no,” he said. “ I hope for the best of news in 
that quarter; of course, it will take time, much time, 
I fear, from what I’ve heard of her. No, no,” he re- 
peated. “ My news is financial.” He made a mo- 
ment’s pause and surveyed his listener keenly. “You 
supposed your father a rich man? ” he asked. 

“ Why, yes,” said the other. “ I never thought 
much about it. We always seemed to have plenty. 
He never cautioned me about economy, except in the 
general way of avoiding wasteful extravagance, such 


MRS. LONGLEY 


241 

as any father would do.” There was a silence. “ Why 
do you ask me? ” added Ned. 

“ Because your father has died very far from a rich 
man — I fear, a very poor one, although I shall have 
to look up details before I can tell you as definitely 
as you will want to know. But this much is certain : 
A short time ago he made investments in a mining 
company, investments that have turned out badly. 
News of this is scarcely a week old. If he had iived 
to manipulate his shares himself, things might have 
turned out differently; for he had great skill in 
financial matters. But it’s hard to say. But, my dear 
fellow, he died at exactly the wrong moment.” The 
speaker looked at Ned, and added: “ Although as to 
that, there could not have been a right moment, so far 
as you are concerned. I understand that his loss of 
life is infinitely more to you than his loss of property. 
Still, for your mother’s sake you would have wished 
things otherwise. Well, all I can say is I’ll do my 
very best for you two and for her. You shall hear 
from me more particularly soon. I’ve been sorry 
enough, as I said, to speak to-day. But it did not seem 
right to leave you in ignorance.” 

“ Yes, you are right. Thank you,” answered Ned 
dully. He was thinking of his mother, of the doc- 
tors’s assurances that only the greatest constant care 
and every luxury could give her a chance for life. 

With a sympathetic message to Miss Longley, Mr. 
Chesterdown took his leave. 

In a few days Mrs. Brooke received another letter 


242 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

from Dorothy, written after her return to Ridgemore. 
In this she said : 

“ I was right in thinking that there was something 
out of the way. Later in the day Ned told me what 
it is. But he has not told Grace about it yet; he's 
afraid she could not bear anything more now. She 
wouldn’t take in all the significance at once; but it 
would be another shock to her. Mother, Mr. Ches- 
terdown told Ned that Mr. Longley died a poor man, 
that when matters were settled, he was afraid there 
would be practically nothing left. I don’t believe it. 
But Ned does, and says that Mr. Chesterdown can 
prove it, or he would not have said it. So, I suppose 
I must believe it. The terrible side of this loss is Mrs. 
Longley who needs everything to give her a chance for 
life, Ned says that the doctors told him. And if there 
has to be an operation, it will be a very difficult and 
expensive one. Mr. Chesterdown said that Mr. Long- 
ley had gone into some mining business. We’ve al- 
ways heard of the risks of that. But things may not 
be so bad as they seem now. I can see though that 
Ned believes the worst; he is so anxious about his 
mother. 

“ He says he must let the place at once. Of 
course, he had to tell Grace; but he did not give her 
all the reasons; he told her that it must be a long 
time before their mother could return, and things 
could not be left to the care of servants, and then 
that it was better to get some income out of the 
house. 


MRS. LONGLEY 


243 


“ Grace could not bear the thought of anybody 
else being in her home, and she told him that she never 
knew him so keen after money before. Poor Ned! 
He did not even glance at me, lest our eyes should 
tell her that there was something behind this care 
for money. He only told her to pick out all their 
mother’s special treasures and her own things, and 
they should be stored with some of the books and 
other possessions that their father had cared for 
most. He thought it best to let the house furnished, 
if they could do it. 

“ I’m so glad I wasn’t hard upon Mabel White 
about that school affair; for her mother is a beautiful 
woman; she has been everything to these two, and 
when I told her so, she answered me in tears that 
their father and mother had been all the world to her 
in her days of poverty and trouble. 

“ I went to the hospital with Grace and Ned; and 
I had one moment’s glimpse of Mrs. Longley; she 
asked to see me. I scarcely dared to speak to her, 
and went away again at once. Oh, mother, I don’t 
see how she can live. But I pray she will. The 
nurse told me more about her than she told Grace. 
I can’t tell how much Ned knows. I am thankful 
that Jimmy Reid will be with him while Ned is in 
his own home. 

“ Grace and I came on here, and Ned went back 
to the house again, for there are many things to be 
done; Mrs. Longley wants him to arrange everything 
as he and Grace think best. Grace acquiesces now 
in whatever he suggests and has gone back to her 


244 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

work as her mother desired. But, poor darling, she 
is broken-hearted. 

“ Next time I’ll try to send a more cheerful letter 
from your loving Dorothy.” 

One little scene, brief as a thought, but as signifi- 
cant, Dorothy had not put into her letter, but it often 
rose up before her. When Ned had asked her to go on 

to C with them, so that Grace need not return to 

Ridgemore alone, she had said to him : 

“ You know I’m too glad to do anything in the 
world I can. You know that, Ned?” she had re- 
peated as he was silent. 

“ Yes, I know it, Dorothy,” he had answered her 
then; and he had looked at her with a smile sadder 
than tears. Deepest love and trust were in it ; but there 
was no hint of joy. 


XXVII 


DOROTHY AND REX ENTREAT 

Mrs. White had had her wish and had taken to 
keep safe for her dear friend, Mrs. Longley, many of 
the dainty and beautiful treasures from the Longley 
home, and Grace’s possessions also, as well as that 
part of Mr. Longley’s library which Ned knew that 
his father had prized most, and his desk which she 
said Ned might want to use himself when he was es- 
tablished somewhere. 

The place had let at a better price than he had 
dared to expect ; and the tenants were coming to take 
possession the first week in April. It was now the 
first of March. The gardener and two of the maids 
had been engaged by the coming tenants. Ned as- 
sured himself that he had every reason to feel things 
had gone well — that is, first granting that they had 
gone so ill. He was to return to college the following 
day. Jimmy Reid had been with him every moment 
that his work would allow, for he was employed in a 
bank in the town. He was absent at his duties that 
morning, and Mrs. White had left Ned in order to 
attend to domestic matters in her own house and 
would not return until after luncheon. He was alone. 

He thought as he stood looking about him, that the 
245 


246 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

house with the dear ones and the most significant 
things in it gone was an emblem of his own life, with 
the strength and beauty swept out of it. His work 
here was done. There remained only the discharging 
of the servants for whom there was no further use, 
and before this the payment to each one, remaining 
or departing, of the legacy left by Mr. Longley. Once 
Ned would have thought that these all amounted to a 
small sum as he had been accustomed to think of 
money; but he had found it difficult to get even this 
amount from Mr. Chesterdown, and the lawyer had 
yielded only because Ned had insisted strenuously 
that the legacies must be paid at once. There must 
be further money forthcoming for his mother, and 
an understanding of his fathers business matters, and 
much trouble, Ned foresaw. But thus far he had done 
what he could. By noon the money for the legacies 
would be deposited in one of the banks in the town, 
and he could draw his checks and finish up this part 
of his work. Reid was to telephone him when it was 
telegraphed from Mr. Chesterdown. Jimmy would 
not forget, Ned well knew. 

Longley wandered over the house, ostensibly to see 
that everything was in order, but really in a leave 
taking that grew every moment more sad. When he 
returned to the library he was inwardly trembling. 
He dropped into a chair and looked about the room 
his father had used so constantly and so lovingly. 
The young man had been in a whirl; over and over 
again he had choked back his emotions until it had 
seemed to him as if he had thrust his feelings into 


DOROTHY AND REX ENTREAT 247 

the recesses of his being and they would come to the 
surface no more. 

But now in the respite from strong exertion, and in 
the unspeakable solitariness of the empty house — • 
home no longer — desolation swept over him like a 
flood. It seemed as if for the first time he was real- 
izing what had come upon him. 

That money had gone, and luxury with it — what 
was that, except for his mother? Then as, worn out 
with the labors of the past days, and with emotion, 
he sank into a chair, he perceived sharply that the loss 
of money meant to him the loss of Dorothy. The 
luxuries now necessary to his mother to save her life 
he must earn for her; his life was hers; his whole 
work would not be too much, he feared not enough 
to supply her present needs. Mr. Chesterdown in a 
recent letter had said not only that Mr. Longley had 
lost all his property, but that he had debts. Ned was 
no longer a free man; the love of affection and duty, 
not the love of choice claimed his life. He could not 
now ask Dorothy to become his wife. His mother 
had been bequeathed to him by his father’s death, and 
his devotion and service belonged to her. Of this 
there was no doubt. His thoughts turned to her 
obediently, caressingly. He saw her lying in suffer- 
ing terrible at times, in lingering illness which no hu- 
man skill could assure him would terminate in health, 
or even in chronic invalidism, instead of in death. 
Her patience, her faith, her strength of soul, her 
thought for her children, her desire to live for them, 
when he knew that the joy of her life was over, all 


248 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

came back to him and filled him with inextinguishable 
tenderness for her. 

Then in a flash he seemed to see his father before 
him, standing looking down upon him with the loving 
kindness that his life rather than his words had ex- 
pressed. The son seemed to see again bent upon him 
that love which uttered in the brightening eyes, the 
tenderness of the smile, in the tones rather than in 
the words, the deep affection that in life could know 
no break. As Ned sat with his eyes fixed upon the 
empty hearth seeming to embody desolation, picture 
after picture of the dear home life rose up before him, 
the simple delights, the sweetnesses, the merry hours, 
the happy reunions when the broken circle had joined 
again. And the more he remembered, the greater 
grew his desolation. His eyes were full of the vis- 
ions, his soul was overflowing with their joys; and 
the sudden and utter loss of them swept like a tidal 
wave of misery against the moorings of his life. 

“ Oh, father ! father ! ” he cried aloud in the sharp- 
ness of his agony; and bowed his head upon his 
hands and wept bitter tears with strong sobs, such as 
a man seldom utters and then has never cause to be 
ashamed of. 

He lost the sense of time and knew not when he 
grew calmer — how long he had sat thus. He only 
became conscious that one vision was driving out the 
others in his soul. He seemed in this vision to see 
his father as once only when Ned himself had been 
a boy he had seen him coming down the stairs from 
the room in which his mother — the grandmother Ned 


DOROTHY AND REX ENTREAT 249 

had loved well — had died. His father had been sob- 
bing in a grief that had filled the son with wonder, 
and a touch of awe; for he had never seen the strong 
man give way to emotion like this. But in the very 
hall as he descended, there had met him a message 
begging of him the instant performance of some 
favor which the boy felt could well have waited. 

“ Oh, papa ! ” he cried as he listened in surprise to 
his father’s consent; “you’re not going to do it now. 
Oh, you can’t now. You don’t feel like that now.” 

Never would the son forget the eyes his father 
turned upon him, serene beneath the very tears that 
yet filled them, nor the great gentleness of his voice 
as he said to his boy, “ Our grief for those who have 
gone should never interfere with our duties to the liv- 
ing.” Had it been a platitude, the child would have 
forgotten it. But when his father turned at once and 
followed the petitioner into the library, the example 
stamped the words upon the son’s memory forever. 
That day as Ned sat alone, words and act came back 
to him; they seemed a message from his father him- 
self; they brought him a new strength as he raised his 
head and once more looked about him in the desolate 
room. Something remained to him — his duties. He 
had no thought of shirking them. 

The telephone! Jimmy was calling him. Again 
there was something to be done. 

“ But it is only a few weeks. What difference can 
that make in what you mean to do? And yet it will 
make a great difference to you in your chances. For- 


250 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

give me for speaking so plainly, Longley. But you 
ought to listen to solid sense. Come now, I say, do 
it. I shall hold it a great favor. You can’t realize 
how I want it. You must say ‘yes’.” And in his 
earnestness the speaker laid both hands on Ned’s 
shoulders and bored eager eyes into his. 

“ I wish I could, Brooke, if only because you’re so 
good about it. But I can see only one way; and the 
way I see is the one I have to take.” 

“ ’Twould be a good plan to borrow your neigh- 
bor’s spectacles — when he has much the better pair 
of the two!” retorted Rex with a vehemence by no 
•means all jest. “Your sheepskin will help you any- 
where; you stand away at the top. You will more 
than make up for this slight delay. And after that, 
go to work as hard as you will.” Then, suddenly, his 
tone changed. “ Old fellow,” he said with a feeling 
that could not be mistaken, “ you’re having such a hard 
old time, don’t you see I’ve just got to do something? 
I can’t stand it — well, I really can’t,” he went on. 
“ Let me help you this trifle. The money is my very 
own, not a dollar of it comes from the pater . It was 
left to me by the good old friend whom I was named 
for. Who’ll know about it, anyway? And you may 
give me your note for it at interest and pay it up when- 
ever you like; there’s no haste. But don’t quit college, 
Longley, on the very eve of a brilliant graduation.” 

The listener’s face softened as he thanked him; he 
deeply appreciated this kindness. But Rex perceived 
that he had made no change in Longley’s determina- 
tion, and he was half angry with him for what he 


DOROTHY AND REX ENTREAT 251 

called his stubbornness. Yet he respected him so 
much that he .was more than ever desirous to help 
him. 

Later in the day Rex ran over to Dorothy. 

“ I want you to dine with me to-night at Warner’s,” 
he said. “Can’t you? I’ll bring Longley. I want 
you to see if you can’t persuade him to see reason.” 
And he explained the matter to her. “ He is making 
a mistake, Doro; and he’ll find it out when it’s too 
late. We must save him from it if we can. He has 
enough, poor fellow ! ” 

“ To be sure, I’ll come, Rex; and do my utmost.” 

“ I know you will, Doro. We’ll call for you.” 

As the three sat that evening in the quiet restaur- 
ant which Rex had chosen as the place where they 
could talk most freely, the conversation was at first 
upon general subjects, touched upon with an indiffer- 
ence, however, that proved in them all the secret 
dominance of more vital matters. 

But it was not until Rex perceiving a friend across 
the room, had gone to him and entered upon what ap- 
peared a lengthy discussion that Dorothy said: 

“ Rex has been telling me what he wants you to do, 
Ned. It is no favor, you know, except to him — and 
to me, Ned. And it is a most wise thought in Rex; 
he is quite right. Make it as much of a business mat- 
ter as you insist upon to suit you ; but do it, I entreat 
you.” Looking at him, she read refusal under the 
softening and pathos of his face and hastened to re- 
peat: “Do it for my sake, Ned, I entreat you. Oh, 
don’t you know how hard it is for — for us all to see 


252 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

you suffering so and not be able to lift a finger to help 
you! And yet, no, I ask you for more than this; I 
ask you for your dear mother’s sake. Rex says 
truly that you’ll get into work sooner as a graduate, 
at least, as the kind of graduate you will be. So, you 
see, it is for her sake I’m pleading with you to do 
it.” 

As she finished speaking, their eyes met. Vividly 
before him was the memory of those hurried words 
that he had whispered to her a few weeks before. It 
seemed to him that years must have passed since 
then — years that had crushed him. And to her the 
memory was as vivid. That evening when he had 
been interrupted he had thought that the next day he 
should ask her to be his wife — his wife! As now he 
looked at her, more beautiful in her sadness and sym- 
pathy than she had been in her gayety, he could not 
regret that his love for her had broken bounds of si- 
lence and uttered itself to her. But now 

“You know how it is, Dorothy,” he said softly. 
“That my father died poor I cannot understand; but 
it means that my life is not my own; it belongs to 
my mother, to earn for her what may keep her in 
life — I pray so.” 

“ Amen ! ” said Dorothy reverently. 

“ My father has left her to me,” he went on. “ I 
am no longer my own,” he repeated. And under the 
quiet words she heard the cry of his soul as he looked 

at her. “If my work, my toil can save her ” 

His words broke as he sat looking at Dorothy. 

“ I should do the same for my mother,” said the 


DOROTHY AND REX ENTREAT 253 

girl. And the eyes that looked into his held a feeling 
too deep for tears. 

There was a moment’s silence. 

Both recognized in this moment the finishing of 
those hopes that so lately he had begun to utter in 
passionate delight in her. To both it seemed as if a 
new death had fallen upon them. When the moment 
was over, they looked away from each other and 
struggled for the calmness that had been so nearly 
wrecked. 

“You will do it?” pleaded Dorothy returning to 
her entreaty as a refuge. “ To comfort — us, you will 
do it, Ned?” 

“Oh, Dorothy, I cannot!” he cried, something of 
the passion and despair he could not speak breaking 
through his tones. “ There are debts already and I 
must not add to them. Mr. Chesterdown told me of 
these again when I saw him last.” 

“ But for this you could wait ” 

“Yes, I could wait years. But it would be there. 
Besides, who can insure life and health for me, well 
as I am to-day ? And for her not a day must be lost. 
What if she should die while I was here providing 
for my own future? I wish you could see it as I do. 
I’m not ungrateful.” 

“ Oh, Ned, I do see it,” she cried wiping away the 
tears that came at last. 

Suddenly, she turned to him with a new expression. 
“ There’s something very strange indeed ; we all feel 
so,” she said. “ I believe that your father was well 
off, if he was not rich. I don’t trust Mr. Chester- 


254 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

down. I looked straight into his face that evening 
he treated poor little Kitty Hyde so badly. There is 
something in him not to be trusted,” she repeated. 

He half smiled with that sense of superior infor- 
mation which the most enlightened men are apt to 
have when a woman talks to them of business mat- 
ters. He had listened to hard facts which Dorothy 
could not know. 

“ My father chose him,” he answered ; “ and so, al- 
though I don’t like him personally, I must have a 
certain confidence in him, and I do. The further we 
go into matters, the worse they seem, I’ve tried to be- 
lieve it only a nightmare. But it is true.” 

And although Dorothy trusted Mr. Chesterdown 
no more than she had done before, she was obliged to 
acquiesce in what Ned told her of his father. 

She appeared to herself to be walking through a 
mist of blackness. 

That night it seemed to Ned Longley that he could 
not endure the loneliness of the life before him. Dor- 
othy had never been so dear as in her loving sym- 
pathy. 

Was it sympathy? Or was it love? 


XXVIII 


WHAT SHALL SHE DO ? 

“ Why don’t you do as Ned wants you to and stay 
quietly here in college until the end of the year?” 
said Dorothy. “Then accept mother’s urgent invita- 
tion and spend the vacation with us, all but the times 
when you can be with your mother, and you know 
they will not let you be with her for a long while at 
once. Then you can be looking up something.” 

“Would you?” asked Grace facing her. “Would 
you, Dorothy?” she repeated, as the other hesitated. 
“ Something is very wrong, and you are all hiding it 
from me,” went on Grace. “ And that’s a wrong, and 
an insult, though you don’t mean it so. Tell me, 
Dorothy, would you do it?” she asked for the third 
time. 

“ Perhaps not — no, Grace, I should not,” said the 
other reluctantly yielding to the insistence upon an 
answer. “ And yet perhaps I should if I could not be 
with my mother, as you cannot. That would make all 
the difference, you see.” 

“And you’d sit and fold your hands and let Rex 
do all the work ? ” 

“ Nobody asks any such thing of you, Grace; only, 
that you should wait until something suitable comes 
255 


256 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

to you; that’s reasonable. That is what we thought 
Ned also ought to do/’ she added unwisely. 

“ Oh, you tried to persuade Ned to stay, did you? ” 
cried the girl. “ And why didn’t he? I wonder why 
not? I’ve as good a right as Ned to know about our 
affairs; and I will know, too. All he will tell me is 
that mamma needs so much money to give her all 
luxuries, and perhaps her back will have to be oper- 
ated upon and that will cost ever so much more, and 
he thinks he ought to be busy, for fear there shouldn’t 
be enough. Neither papa nor mamma ever preached 
economy to me. Why should Ned begin it now? Do 
you know, Dorothy?” 

“ I know he thinks he needs to do it ; and that’s all 
I can tell you about it, Graciosa dear. Why don’t you 
trust him?” 

“ There are two kinds of trusting,” returned Grace; 
“ one when you think people are noble and good — and 
that’s Ned. The other is when you believe that 
they’re trying to manage you for your good — and 
that’s Ned, too — but you want to do your own man- 
aging of yourself. And that’s what I’m going to do, 
Dorothy.” 

The necessity of going to a class interrupted this 
protest; and Dorothy was glad that it was not re- 
newed. At first she believed that Grace with her 
usual sweetness of disposition had yielded to her 
brother’s wish and consented to remain until the end 
of the college year. That Ned wanted more for her 
Dorothy knew, and she believed that this was partly 
the cause of his objection to every plan of self-sup- 


WHAT SHALL SHE DO? 


257 

port that his sister had proposed to him. But every- 
thing depended upon what he himself could do. It 
was only a week from his refusal of Rex’s offer of a 
loan of money with which to finish his college course 
and to aid his mother while doing this, and thus far 
nothing had been done except his breaking of his 
connection with college life. His immediate search 
for a position had not yet been successful. 

The following day when Dorothy went to Grace’s 
room, the latter was out. Unknown to anyone but 
Kitty Hyde, she was talking over matters with her. 
She came back a little breathless, a trifle uneasy, 
but upon the whole, well pleased with herself. 
Ned was coming that evening. She would have 
to tell him. She assumed to herself that it would be 
easy. 

“ I’ve found something to do, and before you have, 
Ned,” she began as the two sat by themselves in a 
corner of the reception room where the gravity of 
their loss had isolated them from the light and play- 
ful talk going on around them. 

“ What ! ” he exclaimed looking at her in intense 
disapprobation. 

“ You needn’t scowl so, Ned. If you need to work, 
so do I. If you won’t tell me how things stand, I 
have as good a right to keep my own counsel. But 
I’m not doing it. I’ve more confidence in you than 
you have in me.” 

“ Is that the way you take it, Graciosa. I’ve only 
been trying to save you pain.” 


258 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“And I’m going to help you earn the money you 
feel there is so much need of, though I can’t under- 
stand why there should be. I’ve got a place in a 
store.” 

He half sprang up. “What!” he cried as he 
seated himself again, hoping that no One had noticed 
his vehemence. “A place in a store, Grace! Why, 
if you’ll forgive me, nobody would want you there; 
you’re not the kind at all.” 

“ Kitty said everybody that saw me would want 
me, I would treat people so well,” returned the girl 
with a slightly injured air. “ Perhaps you think, 
Ned, that I should enjoy finding that I couldn’t do 
anything useful? ” 

“ It’s what I’m finding out about myself,” he an- 
swered gloomily. “ But I shall get into the rut after 
a while,” he added in a different tone. 

“I can have this place Kitty told me about,” said 
Grace. “ I went to see the people.” And she gave 
him a full account of her interview with the manager, 
what her work would be and the wages she would re- 
ceive. 

He listened with a perception that Kitty Hyde had 
been right; a girl as tactful, as unselfish, as quietly 
capable as Grace would be welcome anywhere. She 
would never fail to make her way, although it might 
be a hard one. But it should not be a hard one if he 
could help it. Certainly, she should not go into a 
store; she should never be exposed to the hardships 
and often the insults of such a life of illy paid toil. 
He had no authority, however; and he was learning 


WHAT SHALL SHE DO? 


259 

that Grace had a determined will. How could he 
prevent her? He sat awhile thinking. 

“There is one requisite for the place that you do 
not possess,” he began at last. 

“ Oh, but I can learn.” 

“ Not this.” 

“What do you mean, Ned?” 

“ You can’t learn to lie.” 

“ But I won’t have to lie. The girls say they do 
not have to do it. They make a big story once in a 
while just for fun. But you know I wouldn’t do 
that.” 

He looked at her. She seemed to him almost a 
different being with such suggestions on her lips. 

“ I was not thinking of your work, at least, not in 
that way,” he answered her. “ I was thinking of 
mamma.” 

“Of mamma?” she questioned breathlessly, and 
sat looking at him and waiting for his explanation. 

“ You know how clever she is,” pursued Ned. “ She 
will surely find out that you are not at college, and 
what you are doing — unless you lie to her, Grace. 
The doctors have told me that any' shock may be 
fatal to her. I don’t dare to tell her that we’ve lost 
a great deal of money by papa’s last investments. At 
present at least, she must live as she has been used to 
living. Later, if God spare her to us, Grace, she will 
have to know that things have gone wrong. But I 
hope before that time to be able to make them better 
for her. I’ve only waited to tell you everything until 
you were a little stronger and more able to bear it.” 


26 o DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


“ Dear Ned ! ” she answered him. 

“If you wish, I will tell you all now," he said. 

“ I do wish it.” 

He gave her every particular of their affairs, so far 
as he knew them himself. 

“ I will not distress you and her by doing this,” she 
said when he had finished. Since you put it to me 
in such a way, I’ll give up the place. But as soon as 
a right way opens, I shall help you, Ned.” 

His hand closed fast upon his sister’s lying in his 
own. He felt the strength and comfort of her pres- 
ence, and the sustaining power of her love and cour- 
age. 

“ You help me now, my dear sister,” he said. 

She smiled up at him. 

“ I’ll do more some day,” she answered. “ But it’s 
all so strange about our being poor. The last check 
papa sent me was the largest I’ve had at college.” 

“ Yet things happen so,” he returned. “ It’s not so 
uncommon.” 

“ Yes, I will help you more some day, Ned,” she 
said again as she bade him good night. “The way 
will open.” 


XXIX 


CHARLEY BRIDGES OPENS THE WAY 

Three weeks of sadness and bitter disappointment 
to Grace Longley went by. She had knocked in vain 
at many doors; and those which would have opened 
to her, Ned so vehemently disapproved of that she 
would not distress him by entering any of them. In 
fact, she knew he was right and that if she still in- 
sisted upon carrying out her purpose of working for 
her mother, by delaying a little longer she could prob- 
ably find something much better. But the waiting 
was so hard. 

It was one afternoon in the beginning of the fourth 
week of Grace’s search that Dorothy’s studying was 
interrupted by the maid who brought her a card from 
the gentleman who was waiting below to see her. 

It was Mr. Bridges. 

He had not been there ten minutes when Grace 
came in from out-of-doors, and on her way upstairs 
ran into the reception room to see what she could find 
among the advertisements in the papers on the table, 
as had been her habit of late. 

“ Oh, Mr. Bridges,” she said taking the hand he 
offered her as he went to meet her, “ I didn’t know 
you were here. What a beautiful day it is! ” 

He did not answer this remark; he was still hold- 
261 


262 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


in g her hand and looking at her in a longing, as 
Dorothy read, to do something kind. At last he said 
hesitatingly : “ I don’t know how to speak to you. 
Miss Longley, to tell you how much I sympathize with 
you and your brother. But I want you to know I do.” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Bridges,” she answered absently. 

“ If only there were something I could do for you,” 
he went on. “ If ever there should be, please let me 
know.” 

Suddenly she looked up at him with a new eager- 
ness in her face, and stood for an instant studying 
him under the inspiration of the suggestion that had 
come to her. The eyes looking into hers with sin- 
cerity in their sympathy decided her. 

“ It may be there is something that you can do for 
me,” she answered him. “ Or, at least, you can be 
on the lookout for something.” 

“ Tell me about it,” he said earnestly. “ I’ll do all 
I can, you may be sure.” He placed a chair for her 
near Dorothy and seated himself beside her. 

Grace was too absorbed in her subject to think of 
hesitations or reservations. “ We’ve suddenly be- 
come very poor,” she began, plunging at once into 
the heart of her subject. “ Mamma needs everything, 
and lots of money, and Ned has left college to try to 
earn for her. And I’m going to earn too, Mr. 
Bridges, in some way. I’ll do anything that will bring 
me money for her. If you know this, you may 
run across some work for me — may hear of it, I mean. 
Will you try? Can’t you think of something? 
There’s no teaching to be had before the autumn any- 


BRIDGES OPENS THE WAY 263 

way, and I want something immediately. Do you 
know of anything at all? ” 

“ Why, yes,” he said ; then he paused in embarrass- 
ment. “ But it’s nothing you would want,” he added. 
“ I’m quite sure of that.” 

“ I want anything in the world that will bring me 
some money,” returned Grace — “ anything that I can 
do. I’d have gone into a store, but Ned said it 
wouldn’t bring me anything and I couldn’t stand the 
work; he was so distressed, that I couldn’t do it.” 

“Of course not,” said Bridges emphatically. “You 
couldn’t stand the hard work and the bad air — and 
then, there’s no money in it.” 

“But what were you thinking of? ” she questioned 
eagerly. “ Do tell me,” she added as he still hesi- 
tated. 

“Why,” he said still embarrassed, “I’m looking 
for the right person myself, for my mother.” 

Dorothy started and turned away from him sud- 
denly. 

He turned to her and away from Grace instantly. 

“ Oh, I’ll see she doesn’t walk over Miss Longley, 
or anybody else,” he said to her. “ She doesn’t mean 
it, Miss Brooke. She has a good side, though you 
happened upon the other that summer.” 

“ I’m very sure of it,” returned Dorothy, repentant 
at seeing the flush on his face and the troubled look 
in his eyes. 

“ My sister has married and gone away,” he ex- 
plained, turning back to Grace. “ My mother is lonely, 
and she wants a companion — a lady. That’s not so 


264 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

easy to find. There’s no personal service, you know,” 
he added hastily. “ What she wants is somebody to 
sit with her and read to her sometimes, and drive 
with her, and help her entertain, and really do the 
things my sister used to do. You can imagine that 
it’s somewhat difficult to get anyone to fill that place. 
Perhaps you would not like it at all, Miss Longley. 
My mother has her trying ways. But she can be kind 
when she takes a fancy. And I know she would be 
perfectly delighted with you, if you really are think- 
ing of doing anything, and would come.” 

“ I shall be very glad to come, thank you, Mr. 
Bridges,” said Grace. “ Please talk it over with your 
mother and see what she says.” 

“ I will,” he answered watching her reflectively. 
“ But I know that already.” He was thinking that 
she could probably hold her own well. For with all 
her gentleness, she had much quiet dignity. And he 
would keep an eye on his mother’s petty tyrannies. 

“When would she want me — if she should want 
me at all? ” asked Grace. 

“ To-day, if she could get you,” he answered. 
“ Oh, I’m quite sure of it.” He sprang up. “ Hold 
on a minute!” he cried. “I’ll convince you of it. 
Where’s your telephone?” 

Soon the two girls heard him using the long distance 
call. His mother was at home. 

“ How would you like Miss Longley whom you 
met at Mount Rest for a companion? ” they heard him 
ask. “ Oh, no matter how it happens ; I’ll tell you all 
about it when I see you. Just say if you want her? ” 


BRIDGES OPENS THE WAY 265 

He laughed as the answer came back, put another 
question or two, hung up the receiver and came to- 
ward the girls anxiously waiting for him. 

“ Just as I said,” he smiled. “ She declared I was 
hoaxing her; I couldn’t have such luck. She’ll be 
happy to see you early next week, if that will be 
agreeable to you. This week she is to be away. I 
congratulate her, Miss Longley. And don’t worry, 
Miss Brooke; we will try to take good care of your 
friend.” He turned to Dorothy with an assurance in 
his tone that comforted her. After all, she trusted his 
kindness as much as she feared the exactions of his 
mother. 

After Bridges had gone, the girls sat in Grace’s 
room talking over with Priscy the surprising oppor- 
tunity. 

“ What a salary ! ” cried Grace who had no idea 
that Bridges had taken the liberty to double his 
mother’s offer, resolving to make this right with his 
father, or to settle the matter himself with his 
mother. “Ned can’t have any objections this time. 
And if he should have, I’m going,” she added. “ I 
shall never get such an offer again.” 

“That you won’t,” said Priscy — “if you have to 
go at all, Grace.” 

“ I certainly do, Pell-Mell.” 

“You’ve beaten me out and out, Graciosa,” said 
Ned as he yielded with a sigh. “While I’ve been 
looking for work, you’ve found it at a price I should 
be only too glad to earn.” 

“But it’s work that wouldn’t please you!” re- 


266 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


torted Dorothy. “I don’t know anybody but Grace 
who could undertake it with any prospect of suc- 
cess.” 

“ The success has not yet arrived,” said the girl. 
“ But I’ll try for it. I’m glad you like the salary, 
Ned.” 

“ Like it ! It’s splendid — unless she makes you 
work too hard for it. But if Bridges is going to keep 
an eye on his mother, I shall keep an eye on you. So, 
I suppose you’ll get on. The nurse’s telephone from 
the hospital caught me just as I was coming here,” 
he added. “ She reports a gain in mamma so slight 
as to be scarcely noticed; yet the doctor counts it an 
encouragement, so far as it goes.” 

Grace said nothing. But her hands were clasped 
and her eyes filled with tears as she looked at her 
brother. 

“ You can keep in touch with her there,” said Ned. 
“ And Mrs. Bridges must let you go to see her some- 
times.” 

“ Oh, yes, Ned; I arranged that.” 

“ I’ll warrant you did,” he said. “ I hate to have 
you go; but — you are right, Grace.” 

“ Why, if mother recover, we can do anything; we 
shall not mind what it is,” she said to him. “And 
you’ll find something good soon, I know.” 

“ Indeed, I shall,” he answered briskly as Doro- 
thy’s eyes turned upon him with a troubled look. She 
perceived the secret fret of his want of success, and 
how it was wearing upon him. 

Susie Codman was one of the few persons beyond 


BRIDGES OPENS THE WAY 267 

the dean and Grace’s professors who knew why she 
was leaving college. Those who were told the reason 
showed her a sympathy that she never forgot; and in 
the dean’s kindness to Grace, Dorothy found a warmth 
that made her thereafter a firm believer in Miss Ayles- 
ford. 

“ Life here will be so different without you, Grace 
dear,” said the girl as they parted. “ But you are do- 
ing the best thing, and it will all come out right. I’m 
glad you are to be rid of Flora. ‘Why?’ you ask. 
When you see her, you’ll know why.” 

“ Sit down this minute, Charley, and tell me all 
about it — everything, as you promised me,” said his 
mother when he reached home two days before Grace 
was to arrive. “How in the world have the Long- 
leys lost all their money? I thought they were about 
as rich as we are. What’s happened to them? Oh, I 
know about the accident, of course; everybody knows 
that; it was in all the papers. Just tell me the part 
that wasn’t in them. How on earth have they con- 
trived to lose all their money?” 

Now, Grace had never told Bridges clearly about 
the loss; she had said what she knew herself about 
bad investments; and he was not the man to question 
her about them, even had he believed that she knew 
particulars, and he was quite sure she did not. But 
he told his mother even less than he himself had 
guessed. He had not seen Ned; and he smiled in se- 
cret at the idea of his questioning that haughty fel- 
low. Still, it had occurred to him that some day he 


268 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


might know a little more about the matter than at 
present. It was enough for his mother, however, to 
learn that the money had probably been dumped into 
a mine — this was what Grace had told him — and that 
in all likelihood the mine was practically bottomless, 
and they would never see any of it more. 

“ Poor creatures ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Bridges in 
genuine sympathy for a loss she could so thoroughly 
appreciate. 

“You remember her at Mount Rest, don’t you?” 
her son asked her. “ I used to see you talking to her 
sometimes.” 

“ Remember her ! ” she echoed. “ I should say I 
did ! Why, she was really the nicest one there. Miss 
Brooke came round after a while from her top-lofty 
airs and was quite pleasant. I never could endure 
that little redheaded Pell thing with her high-and- 
mighty ways, as if she was too grand for anybody. 
I 

“I don’t think it was that,” interrupted Charley. 

“ She resented the way you had treated Dorothy — 
Miss Brooke.” 

“ Well ! Whatever she resented, or didn’t resent, 
she was horrid. But Miss Longley! Do I remem- 
ber her, you ask me! Why, Charley, she was a 
perfect lady from beginning to end of the time she 
was there; she never said a saucy word, nor gave 
herself a top-lofty air all the while she staid. Yes, a 
perfect lady, I call her.” 

“Then, mamma, you must treat her now like f a 
perfect lady ’ — else she shall be whisked off out of 


BRIDGES OPENS THE WAY 269 

your sight quicker than she comes into it. I promise 
you that; and it’s a promse I shall keep. One word 
to that proud brother of hers — and she’s gone.” 

As he was speaking, Charley Bridges got up, 'and 
stood looking down at his mother with an expression 
of resolution that she never tried to trifle with. 

“ I not treat her well ! Why, Charley, what are 
you thinking of?” 

“ Of you when you get into one of your tantrums,” 
he answered her, and quitted the room as the foot- 
man entered with a card. 

“How do you do, Miss Longley? You don’t know 
what dreadful things are to be done to me if I don’t 
treat you well,” laughed Mrs. Bridges as she shook 
hands with Grace. “I’m so sorry, my dear,” she 
added, drawing down her face lugubriously, “ that 
you’ve lost all your money.” 

For a moment Grace looked at her in silence. 
Then, dropping her eyes, she answered, “ Thank you, 
Mrs. Bridges; ” and perceived that her earning of her 
salary had begun. 


XXX 


FACING THE WORLD 

If Ned Longley had not been too proud to go 
among his father’s friends declaring his father’s mis- 
takes, there was still another reason for his silence; 
a state of affairs generally known could not long be 
kept a secret from his mother; and for the present 
absence of all worry was imperative, so the doctors 
affirmed as decidedly as they had done from the first 
day of her accident. 

The day before Grace left college Ned was at his 
mother’s bedside at the hospital. 

“ I take you so much from your studies,” she said 
as he sat talking to her in the quiet way that he 
believed was rather a help than an injury to her, tell- 
ing her little incidents that amused and interested 
her. “ But I think,” she added, “ that the tide has 
begun to turn, that I’m creeping back very, very 
slowly.” And she gave him a wan smile. 

For answer he stooped and kissed her as he laid 
his hand on the white hand that reached out toward 
him. He tried at the moment to put away even from 
himself the thought of that possible operation which 
hung over him and which she was on no account to 
hear of, unless it became necessary. It was good 
that she felt herself better. She lay listening to him 
270 


FACING THE WORLD 


271 


in pleased silence. Then she asked him about Grace. 

Ned was too proud, as well as too honest, not to 
be straightforward. It was hard now to say nothing 
of his sister’s future movements; but he knew that 
this must not be done at present. His mother was 
quick to seize upon suggestions; she would grasp at 
the truth before he had more than told of the change. 
And now that there was more hope of her recovery 
he must be more than ever careful. So he answered 
only that Grace was well and before lorfg would 
come to see her. 

“ I hope we can all be together at home in this 
summer vacation,” she said a few minutes later. “ I 
mean those of us who are left. I’m sure that is 
what your father would have wished.” 

Poor Ned! There was nothing left for him now 
but to tell her that as soon as she could leave the 
hospital she should be somewhere nearer her chil- 
dren, but that he had let the place; it ought not to 
lie idle. She would not in any case be strong enough 
to take charge of it by summer. He told her how 
Mrs. White was guarding her treasures, and many 
other details that he knew she would think of and 
wonder about when he had left her. But of their 
poverty he said not a word. And she was content 
that her son had done well. He went on talking to 
her cheerfully, and came away with a lighter heart 
for her belief and the slight encouragement given by 
the doctors and the nurses. 

After talking over the matter with Dorothy, who 
had warmly approved, he had sent the plays which 


272 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

they had collaborated to the managers of the leading 
theatres in the city. But he had soon discovered that 
it is one thing to receive abundance of praise and en- 
couragement for amateur work, and quite another to 
turn this work into money. With the request for 
payment came refusals and adverse criticisms. Doro- 
thy accepted these refusals, which it must be con- 
fessed were often brusque, in a far different spirit 
from that in which she had received the criticisms of 
Mr. Harris, her editor, as she called him. 

“ Ned, those managers are brutal ! ” she declared 
hotly. “ To refuse Ned’s fine work when he needs 
money so much!” she said to herself. “They don’t 
know anything ! ” she added aloud. 

“They know what they want,” asserted Longley 
with a touch of bitterness. 

When Rex came to see him, however, he was more 
communicative. “ Poor Dorothy is downright mad 
about the rejections,” he said. “ She shall not be 
bothered any more about them. I wouldn’t tell her 
now, but she insists upon knowing.” 

“ She’s not fond of the dark,” laughed her brother. 
“ But I think, too, it’s a shame, Longley.” 

“ I suspect it’s all in the day’s work,” quoted Ned. 
“I’m keeping up my studies while I’m waiting, I 
thought you’d be glad to know, old fellow. I may get 
a chance to make up my time some day and get my 
degree.” 

“ No doubt of that,” assented Rex warmly. 

“ I’ve discovered that there’s no such thing for me 
as sending out my productions and waiting for the 


FACING THE WORLD 


273 


public to find out their brilliancy,” pursued the other. 
“ It’s just a question of plodding toil for daily bread 
while I’m waiting for the slow appreciation to come 
up and overtake me. But I’m getting no end of ex- 
periences while I’m hunting this same bread. One 
meets all sorts and conditions of men in that hunt. 
The other day I went into a newspaper office to see 
if I couldn’t pick up something. I had tried a good 
many, and they were all rushing and all seemed to 
be over-supplied with workers when I suggested my- 
self. But this editor had time hanging on his hands. 
He talked on steadily to me for, it seemed, half an 
hour, giving me points about writing that I knew 
better than he did, though I was careful not to tell 
him so. Then, when I thought it was my turn and 
began at my briefest to say what I wanted and what 
I could do, the fellow pulled out his watch and said 
he was in a hurry; I must be quick.” 

“ How mad you must have been. What did you 
do?” 

“ I was quick — double-quick ! I left my last word 
in mid-air, and walked out of that office. I heard 
him hemming and hawing after me, but I didn’t stop. 
There was nothing for me up his sleeve.” 

Rex laughed. Then he named a paper to which 
Longley had not been, not first-class in regard to 
circulation, but a clean sheet, and not without ability 
in its management. 

“ Thank you,” said Ned. “ I’ll certainly try it.” 

When he called there that very evening, the editor 
was writing for dear life. He waited scarcely a mo- 


274 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

ment to look Longley over; but the glance was pene- 
trating. 

“Man off sick to-day/’ he said. “You may try 
his place if you like. Don’t know how soon he’ll 
be back. He’ll get his place again when he comes. 
Can’t tell if there’ll be anything for you then or 
not — depends. Take it on those terms?” And he 
began to scribble again immediately. 

“Yes,” said Longley. 

In two minutes he was off upon his first repor- 
torial assignment. The pay was meager. At one 
time he would have refused to consider it. Now he 
congratulated himself that it was pay. It should be 
hi 9 business to bring this up, to make a place on the 
paper for himself after the man who was ill had 
returned. 

Something was going on at one of the worst parts 
of the city. Longley was to find out about it and 
write it up. “Just remember, brevity is the soul of 
wit,” the editor called after him, driving his pen as 
he spoke, taking his left hand to push the right one 
along faster. 

“Yes — sir,” responded Ned as he closed the door 
behind him. And as he uttered the last word, he 
realized that he was no longer a gentleman of leisure 
to whom the best of the world was supposed to be 
open, but a workman who must answer to superiors 
in office, and must please them. It was his appren- 
ticeship. Bitter as it seemed to him at the moment, 
he saw, even then, that it might be the very discipline 
that he needed to give the touch of reality which, 


FACING THE WORLD 


275 


possibly, his writings required. He was not only to 
view, but to live his life for a time on a different 
plane; he would see to it that he learned its lessons. 
He was indeed no longer a gentleman of leisure; but 
he was always and everywhere a gentleman. 

He caught his car and stuffed into a convenient 
pocket the writing pad and the pencil that when Ned 
had accepted the work, the editor had thrust into his 
hands without a word. 

Two men sat opposite. They looked familiar to 
him, but he could not place them. They nodded to 
him, however, and then he recalled that he had seen 
them in two offices which he had visited. 

“ Have you got on anywhere ? ” asked one. 

■He nodded. 

“ Reportorial ? ” 

“Yes,” said Longley. 

'“ On what?” 

He told them. 

“ Work by the ton, and pay by the ounce ! ” com- 
mented the second man. 

“ And plenty of experience,” retorted Ned. 

“ Oh, if it’s that you’re after, no doubt about that. 
Marshall is a perfect slave-driver — begins -at him- 
self. You’ll get enough of him.” 

His hearer believed that under the circumstances 
he should not get too much. But he merely remarked 
that he’d not had a chance to know yet. 

“Where are you bound?” asked the first speaker. 
“ We’re for there, too,” he added as Ned told him. 

The three talked on as they went to the place to- 


276 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

gether. Longley was glad to learn the ropes, as he 
put it to himself. But he by no means asked for 
information; he only took what was given uncon- 
sciously. 

As they quitted the car and walked on, Ned found 
a familiarity in the streets about him. They were in 
the neighborhood of the settlement house, and ap- 
proaching this. 

“ ’Twas somewhere about here the stabbing took 
place,” said one of the reporters. “ Those Italians 
turn wild when they get hold of a stiletto. We shall 
have to find out if the man is dead — find somewhere 
to telephone to the hospital.” Then as Longley did 
not answer him, he went on talking to his companion. 

Ned was watching something taking place before 
him on the sidewalk; he was yet too far away to see 
distinctly, but he believed that there was trouble. He 
hurried on in advance of the others. A motor car 
was standing a few rods away, the chauffeur in his 
place. Upon the sidewalk beside this car were a man 
and a girl. It seemed to Ned the man was trying 
to force her to enter the car, and when still nearer, he 
was sure of it, he saw her struggling with him. He 
was a small man and she seemed vigorous ; but his was 
the greater strength and he was drawing her nearer 
and nearer the car. She had been too busy defend- 
ing herself to use her voice. But now when she 
found her strength unequal to his, she uttered a cry. 

At the same instant Ned was upon them. He 
hurled the man backward. The girl finding herself 
free, uttered this time a cry of joy. 

“ Oh, Mr. Longley!” she cried breathless, and 



THE MAN WAS TRYING TO FORCE HER TO ENTER THE CAR 







; 

























X 
















































s 























































































































FACING THE WORLD 


277 

clung to him. “ Thank you ! Thank you ! He al- 
most carried me off. He was at the settlement house 
entertainment to-night, and asked to walk home with 
me. Then he tried to carry me off; I don’t know 
where.” 

“Only for a little drive, you silly thing!” rasped 
the angry voice of the assailant who had now recov- 
ered himself and came up to her as he prepared to 
get into his car. Until then as he stood glaring at 
the girl, he had not seen her defender; and it was not 
until then that Longley saw him distinctly. 

“You!” he exclaimed in amazement. “You! 
you! Why, you ought to be expelled for such a 
thing ! ” 

The man turned away suddenly. “Off with you 
— quick ! ” he said to the chauffeur. And he sprang 
into the car. 

It was Raynor. 

“ Here’s copy ! ” chuckled the two reporters, hurry- 
ing up. “A fine scoop! Who is this girl, Longley? 
You seem to know her. And who is the fellow who’s 
just torn down the street like mad? We can each 
of us have a story; and we’ll remember it and help 
you out some day.” 

“ You shall have no story out of this — nor shall I,” 
answered Longley, turning to them with his old au- 
thority. “ I’m sorry to say, I know the man. The 
lady is a friend of my sister, and of her friends. 
How far is it to your home? ” he asked her, purposely 
avoiding speaking her name. 

“Only to the next block,” said Kitty Hyde. “I 
can’t tell you how I thank you. He’s been to the 


2;8 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

store a few times,' ” she added in an undertone as 
they went on. “ He was a friend of Dia’s, and I 
thought he was all right. But he’s no loss,” she con- 
tinued scornfully. “ I guess he won’t trouble me 
again.” 

“ I’m sure he will not,” said Longley, who had 
seen the flicker of fear in Raynor’s eyes as they had 
met his own. 

“ The policeman here seems to be off duty to-night,” 
said Kitty. “ They usually are when you want ’em 
most.” 

The two reporters had followed on, as their way 
lay in that direction; and when Ned had seen Kitty 
enter her own door, he joined them again. 

“ That’s a working girl,” he explained, “ and so, 
subject to such insults. But she’s very bright, and a 
good girl. Some of the Ridgemore students are in- 
terested in her, and want to help her to a better edu- 
cation. They believe that then she will do something 
worth while. So do I.” 

“And you want to keep her all to yourself,” 
sneered one of his hearers. 

Longley made no answer. He only held his head 
higher and went on to his assignment, which he fin- 
ished before the others, and left them. 

“ In good time,” said Mr. Marshall as the young 
man returned to the newspaper office. “ Story.” 

Ned laid it before him. He glanced it over; then 
glanced up at Ned. 

“ That’ll do,” he said. “ It’s pretty well packed. 
That’s all for to-night. Be here to-morrow early. 
Burnham won’t have got well by that time.” 


XXXI 


EXPERIENCE 

In spite of the ton of work and the ounce of pay 
which he found too true, and the uncertainty of his 
position, for he was still only a substitute, Longley 
held on to his place upon the paper and did his best, 
as if he were receiving a big salary. He recognized 
that the experience he was getting ought to count in 
with his meager stipend. He trotted hither and 
thither with an obedience to command unknown to 
his previous life, not that he had ever been a refrac- 
tory fellow, but that the commands hitherto laid upon 
him had been few, and for the most part pleasant. 

Now they were brusque and urgent. Now he was 
roughing it. He felt this in the tumble that came to 
his clothes; in the disorder in which he often found 
his hair as he returned to his room; in the acquisition 
of numerous slang phrases to which, as he put it 
nowadays, he had “ caught on ” ; in a lessening of the 
bonds of etiquette — although never of real courtesy; 
in the consciousness of urgent obligations that pre- 
cluded his scrupulousness over details and demanded 
his work to be done more in the broad style, as he 
would have said had he been a painter. 

It was after one of his visits to Ridgemore that 
Priscy said : 


279 


280 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


“ Poor Ned! It’s very hard on him. But he has 
improved, Dorothy. He’s getting tousled a bit and 
lightened up. Don’t you think so ? ” she added, watch- 
ing her friend. 

The other smiled rather sadly. “Yes, I do, Pell- 
Mell,” she answered. “ But if all this is to be a 
blessing in disguise to him, it’s very much disguised.” 

“ Right you are there, Dorothy dear,” said Pell- 
Mell, kissing her now that they were again in the 
seclusion of her own room. “ But, remember, we’ve 
not come to the end of the road yet. It’s a long lane 
that has no turning, you know. Who can tell what 
delightful surprise may be waiting there in the turn- 
ing? ” 

“ Do you think that, Pell-Mell ? ” asked Dorothy 
eagerly. Things were not so very easy for her either 
at present. She missed Grace exceedingly; and since 
his last appointment, if it could be called that, Ned 
had not had an hour for dramatic work. He told 
her he was gathering in copy, getting it at first hand 
from real life. 

“We’ll get to using it some day,” he said. 

He must see Dorothy sometimes — and he would. 
He told himself he was not good enough to be always 
thinking what was best for them, since he could not 
finish out the question he had begun to ask her. 
She understood everything; she approved of every- 
thing. If he could ever make money enough to have 
his mother live as she must — and then turn to Doro- 
thy! He was more patient with the veriest exactions 
of his work as this thought swam through his brain. 


EXPERIENCE 


281 

She knew he loved her. And if he made her love him, 
as he wanted to do, and this love kept her from an- 
other — was that what he wanted? He could not tell. 
He knew that he was no angel, only a young man 
who wanted his life in its fullness; but who would 
not take it at the cost of his mother. But he must 
let some things take care of themselves. 

And he did. 

Mr. Marshall had his eye on him. He gave him 
hard tests. Ned met them satisfactorily. The edi- 
tor nodded his head in silence, and made plans which 
he was not yet ready to unfold. 

When one day Longley asked for time off to go 
to see his mother, the editor assented. But he an- 
nounced the trains by which Longley should leave 
the city and return to it, and when he should be back 
in the office. 

Ned’s eyes flashed. But the next moment he said 
quietly, “ Thank you, Mr. Marshall,” and departed. 

There was no doubt now that Mrs. Longley had 
made a gain. The question of the operation was still 
in abeyance. 

“ Your mother is a wonderful woman, Mr. Long- 
ley,” said her nurse as she piloted him to the room. 
“ She has made up her mind to get well ; she says 
she must take care of you and Miss Grace. Miss 
Longley was here yesterday,” she added. 

“Was she?” he asked, surprised. 

“ Yes, sir. She came with a young gentleman. He 
was short and a bit stout. You couldn’t say he was 
handsome; but he was very pleasant, and took good 


282 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


care of Miss Longley; I could see that in the few 
minutes they were together. She was full of seeing 
her mother; and I gave her a good while, because 
Mrs. Longley was strong enough for that and the 
young lady is so qui'et. I came back and sat with 
the gentleman, I think she called him Mr. Bridge, 
or something like that. He was so interested to know 
what I thought of Mrs. Longley’s chances, and so 
pleased to hear she had improved ever so little. He 
said, like you, that she’d get well. Then Miss Long- 
ley came back, and they went off. I heard him say 
his mother would be in the city by the time they got 
there.” 

“ Yes, that was very kind in him,” said Ned, won- 
dering even in his gratitude for this care of Grace 
how he should account to his mother for the presence 
of this escort. 

But he found that Grace had settled it in the sim- 
plest way; she had said nothing about him. In an- 
swer to her mother’s question, she had said that Ned 
could not come with her, and Mrs. Longley had made 
no further comment on the subject. Grace had talked 
with her of other matters, and had told what things 
had been stored with Mrs. White, and what good 
care Jimmy Reid was taking of Leo, their precious 
dog. 

Ned was not so successful in keeping his mother 
to safe subjects. She was sure, she told him, that 
her back was ever so little stronger. Her interest in 
things was awakening, and she began to question him. 
As executor of her husband’s estate, she would en- 


EXPERIENCE 


283 

dorse all that her son had done. But he perceived 
that she had come to the place where she would have 
appreciated being consulted. He answered her with 
decision that matters were not yet settled, or near 
settlement, and that as soon as she was able, he would 
have a business talk with her. 

“ I wish we had our dear old Mr. Gayworthy, 1 ” 
she said. 

“ So do I, mamma,” he answered so earnestly that 
she looked keenly at him. 

“ Anything wrong, Ned? Tell me. I never fan- 
cied this new man. He got your father into some 
mining investments; and that’s why he got himself 
to be Mr. Gayworthy’s successor. ,, 

So, Chesterdown knew more of these investments 
than he had told. He had got Mr. Longley into 
them. 

“ I don’t think your father liked him personally, 
any more than I did,” went on Mrs. Longley. “ He 
told me, though, that he was a wonderful financier. 
But our dear old friend was so kind, and so honor- 
able. I wish we had him now,” she repeated. 

“ It would make it easier for us, it’s true,” replied 
her son in cheerful tones. “ But we’ll get on some- 
how, mamma. Don’t think about business until you 
are stronger.” 

“ In the summer vacation, Ned, I’m going away 
from here to spend it with you and Grace in some 
quiet place. I’m sure I shall get well much faster so. 
Where shall we go?” 

“ Where would you like to go? ” he asked, remem- 


284 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

bering that it must be near the city in which his work 
lay, that he might go back and forth to it. And 
Grace? But, of course, she would have a vacation. 
Also, when his mother was as well as that, it would 
be time to tell her the truth. 

It would be good for her to plan about going away 
this coming summer; she would enjoy the thought. 
But she would not be able to go. 

Yet he returned to the city encouraged about her, 
and was at the newspaper office on time. Mr. Mar- 
shall looked up and nodded to him as he entered, and 
at once sent him off upon an assignment. This was 
in a bad part of the city, and although he found no 
Raynor, nor Kitty Hyde, he was set upon by toughs, 
and but for his native strength and athletic training, 
he would have come off badly. As it was, he had a 
narrow escape in an encounter of three to one, and 
the policeman appeared only after victory had declared 
itself for Longley. Ned wrote up a racy account of 
this battle in addition to his assignment, and as no 
other paper had it, Longley was considered to have 
made a good scoop. It was only later, by accident, 
that the editor discovered in the young fellow him- 
self the man set upon; for the account was given not 
in exploitation of courage, but to warn the public of 
the unsafe condition of that quarter. After this Mr. 
Marshall’s eye was fixed more firmly than ever upon 
Longley. He had something for that fellow up his 
sleeve, he told himself contentedly. But he would 
not speak too soon. 


EXPERIENCE 


285 

Grace had come to the city again with Mrs, 
Bridges, who, while she visited her friends, had given 
her companion the opportunity to meet her brother. 
Dorothy and Priscy came to see her also; and the 
four lunched together. 

“ You don’t look quite done up, Grace,” commented 
Priscy, while Dorothy observed her in silent scrutiny. 

“ Oh, I’m doing admirably,” said Grace. “ I try 
to steer clear of the snags.” 

“Oh, they are there; I’m certain of it,” asserted 
Dorothy. “ But then they would be anywhere in 
some form.” 

“The family are all kind to me. Mrs. Bridges 
does the best she knows how.” The girl smiled as 
she said this, and added that Mr. Bridges, Jr., was 
almost as good to her as Ned could be in the same 
place. 

“ And Mr. Bridges, Sr. ? ” questioned her brother. 

She laughed outright. 

“You’ll have to see him,” she said. “But I’m 
not sure I don’t like him the best of any of them. He 
says he’s ‘ taken a shine ’ to me,” she added with a 
demure smile. 

Ned told his friends that he had had many inter- 
views with Mr. Chesterdown, and always managed 
to get a little money out of him when he squeezed 
very hard. But it came like raindrops in a drought, 
few and far between, and with a promise of giving 
out. 

“ But I’m picking up what I can about town, and 
studying finance as occasion offers,” he said. “ I’m 


286 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


not believing what Chesterdown tells me just because 
he says it.” 

“ Oh, I’m so glad of that!” broke from Dorothy, 
her eyes shining with pride in his pluck and strength. 

“ You and I will get to work again some day,” he 
said, turning to her with a softening of his face and 
a flash in his eyes that made her drop her own and 
fall to picking over her food on her plate for a few 
moments. “ I often get in a little writing,” he went 
on, watching her. “ I’ll have something to show you 
some day.” 

“ Grace is making a hit of it,” she said, smiling up 
at him with recovered equanimity. 


'XXXII 


MR. BRIDGES, SR. 

“ Bless my soul ! Isn’t she a dandy girl ! ” cried 
Mr. Bridges, Sr., under his breath, as he watched his 
wife and Grace Longley sitting tranquilly in the lat- 
ter’s boudoir, Mrs. Bridges amusing herself with an 
elaborate piece of fancy work while Grace read aloud 
to her one of the latest much-talked-of novels. He 
stood a moment looking in. Grace glanced up and 
smiled at him and went on with her reading, while 
Mrs. Bridges, between counting her stitches and 
listening to the story, was too absorbed to notice him. 
He had come home for some papers, and was off 
again the next minute. He stopped by the way, how- 
ever, to interview his son, who was just going out. 

“ I thought you’d gone long ago, dad,” said the 
latter, overtaking him on the stairs. 

“ Came back for the certificates,” returned the elder 
man. Then when they had reached the foot of the 
stairs, he button-holed his son and drew him into the 
library, for although none of the family were great 
readers, Mrs. Bridges had insisted upon an extensive 
library. 

“ What is it?” asked Charley. “ Nothing wrong, 
is there?” 


287 


288 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

► 

“ ‘ Wrong ’ !” repeated the elder man with a 
chuckle. “ Not much ! Did you peep into the boodoir 
just now? ” 

“ I got a glimpse of the serenity as I passed the 
door.” 

Again Bridges, Sr., chuckled. “ Didn’t look much 
like it this mornin’ — eh?” he asked, winking at his 
son. “ Marm seemed to be in for one of her tan- 
trums, an’ they mostly last all day, you know. She 
gits out of bed wrong foot foremost, an’ she goes 
hoppin’ round on that foot all day; there’s no gittin’ 
her to try t’other one. But bless my soul! Look at 
her now smoothed down as if she hadn’t a wrinkle! 
That’s a dandy girl, Charley — a dandy girl, I say. 
Flo could never handle your mother like that. The 
marm ruffled her up, too, till she’d bristle like a tur- 
key cock ! The marm has a delicate constitution, you 
know; she needs gloves. An’ she grows more deli- 
cate, d’you notice, every big scoop I make.” Once 
more he winked at his son. “ It’s her way of feelin’ 
big, you see. Sometimes it makes the rest of us 
sing mighty small, though. But that girl’s voice! 
Why, I’d ruther listen to her than the biggest boosted 
opery I ever heard of. She talks like music; her 
voice goes all over you, like as if she was singin’ a 
lullaby — only, there ain’t no namby-pamby about her, 
you’d better b’lieve. She’s a first-class girl, Charley. 
’Twas a mighty lucky day when you struck her. I 
ruther guess we’re a-goin’ to keep our fights for biz, 
and have peace in the house these times. Well, I 


MR. BRIDGES, SR. 289 

must be off. But don’t you forget, she’s a dandy 
girl, Charley. If that’s the way ladies are made, 
they’re a jolly fine lot — eh? Don’t you think so?” 
And he flashed a keen glance at his son. 

“ That I do,” responded Charley, who enjoyed 
talking a little slang with his father; it relieved his 
sometimes over-taxed elegance, just as the elder 
Bridges often fell into more laxities of speech with 
his son than he permitted himself with strangers. 

“ Well, then, you — but I must be off,” he finished, 
swallowing the further advice which his shrewdness 
had counseled him not to utter. But he went away 
chuckling to himself in a monologue that he seemed 
to find satisfactory. 

“Nice looking girl, too,” ran his thoughts; “goes 
ahead of lots of the highflyers. Always knows what 
to say; and then, she always knows what not to say, 
an’ bless my soul, if that ain’t the biggest part of it! 
There ain’t nobody can find fault with anybody marm 
is suited with. She’s put her through her paces, an’ 
spied out all her failin’s with a magnifyin’ glass, an’ 
rubbed her up the wrong way, till she’d rasp if there 
was any rasp to her. She don’t say she’s suited with 
this one; she says we hain’t had time to know yet. 
But she is — or we’d know it mighty quick. Well, we 
shall see what we shall see.” And he walked on to 
his office again, smiling and nodding his head with a 
satisfaction mitigated only by his experience that one 
cannot count too accurately upon things in this life. 

The young man before turning in an opposite di- 


290 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

rection, watched his father down the street. Grace 
was a calming element in the house, it was true 
enough, he said to himself. But his father had not 
yet seen the girl who was a delight to eye and soul. 
He closed the front door and strolled up the side- 
walk, meditating upon the best way to win this 
beautiful girl on whom his heart was set. Yes, Grace 
Longley was very nice indeed — to one who had not 
seen Dorothy Brooke. He confessed to himself that 
probably Grace did better in her present position than 
Dorothy would have done in it. But then, it was 
a place which Dorothy would on no account ever be 
called upon to fill. 

That evening Grace said to the young man as he 
stood near her, “ I had a long letter from Dorothy 
to-day.” 

“Oh, did you, Miss Longley?” cried Bridges. “I 
suppose it was full of college news. She is well, I 
hope?” And he seated himself beside Grace. 

She gave him one item after another from the let- 
ter telling of some person or event; but she never 
gave the word he longed to hear — any message, how- 
ever light, to himself. She knew he was waiting for 
it; but she had it not to give, and she could not make 
it up, even to please Mr. Bridges, whom she would 
have been glad to please. 

“ Dorothy sent it half-finished,” she explained. 
“ Susie Codman came in to get her to play lawn ten- 
nis, and she bundled up my letter and sent it on, she 
says.” The speaker gave an involuntary sigh. Doro- 


MR. BRIDGES, SR. 291 

thy’s pictures of college life had called up so much 
that was quite over for herself. 

“You miss it all?” questioned Bridges, looking 
at her compassionately. 

“ Oh, no, no,” said Grace with quick repentance. 
“ That is,” she added, “ of course, I do miss the girls, 
and the lessons, and other things that go on at col- 
lege; but I am glad to be here. I would do it again 
if I had to choose.” 

“You sighed,” he said. 

“ It just came of itself,” she answered him. “ You 
must know I’d rather work for mamma than do any- 
thing else.” 

Her listener glanced at Mrs. Bridges. To be sure, 
there was a difference in mammas. But he hoped he 
would be willing to work for his if the need came. 
Still, he could not help being glad that it had not 
come. 

It was not long afterward that one morning Mr. 
Bridges called his son into the private office. 

“ Charley,” he said, “ I’ve got an advertising scheme 
in my noddle that’ll turn out a boom if it’s well man- 
aged. But I’ve got to put the right feller on to it. 
Can you help me out? Can’t you think of some- 
body?” 

He sat looking at the young man, waiting to learn 
if he would suggest the name in his own mind. 

But Charley Bridges suggested nobody. He in his 
turn waited for his father to disclose the scheme. 
He was often consulted. 

“What sort of a feller is that Longley girl’s 


292 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

brother?” asked the father when he perceived that 
he was to get nothing without asking. 

“He’s a regular swell — or he used to be before he 
went into the newspaper work. He may have hustled 
down a little of it; I’ve not seen him since before the 
accident.” 

“A stuck-up feller?” 

“No,” said the other; “not that, because he’s the 
real article; he’s a good fellow, dad, a fine fellow. 
But not the kind that would relish being ordered 
about, I should say.” 

“But he gits it where he is now, don’t he? ” 

The son laughed. “ I should say so,” he answered. 
“But what do you want of him, anyway, dad?” 

“ Writing is his biz, I judge. That’s what I want 
of him, Charley; and bad, too. I want him to write 
some ads that’ll boom.” 

His listener brought down upon the floor with em- 
phasis the feet that had been reposing on the steam- 
less radiator, and faced his father in amazement. 
Then suddenly, he clapped his hands and burst out 
laughing. 

“Ha! ha! ha! Why, dad, you’re a genius! Ned 
Longley writing blood-and-thunder ads for you ! 
It’s the richest thing I ever heard of. He won’t look 
at the thing, I tell you. He’s planning to make his 
everlasting fame writing plays. He’d never conde- 
scend. I wish he would, though,” he added with new 
fervor. For if Ned Longley went to writing adver- 
tisements, what could Dorothy Brooke have to do 
with them? She would be cut out of Longley’s work. 


MR. BRIDGES, SR. 293 

That would be a trump card for Charley himself. 
His father’s was a wild idea, but if it succeeded, 
Longley should be kept busy. 

Mr. Bridges, Sr., sat silent a few minutes. “ I 
dunno,” he said at last. “ I don’t see why he shouldn’t 
do it, if I pay him enough, and I’m good for that. If 
he’s the right feller, he’ll be worth all I give him. Is 
he up to the sister, Charley ? ” 

“Oh, well; he’s square enough, I guess. He’ll do 
what he says he will. I don’t know about his having 
Miss Longley’s angelic disposition, though.” 

His father laughed. “ We’ll have to try to git on 
without that in anybody else,” he answered. “ I’ve 
a good mind to have a try for him. I’ll think it 
over.” 

And the two began to discuss a business matter over 
which both had been studying, and which they had 
nearly come to the decision to undertake. The elder 
man was eager for it; but the younger pointed out 
certain obstacles to be overcome, and the discussion 
was long and animated. When Charley took out his 
watch and announced that he must go to an appoint- 
ment, he had in his absorption in this latter subject, 
forgotten for the time the suggestion in regard to 
Ned Longley. 

But not so his father. No sooner had Charley 
quitted the room than the other gathered up the 
papers that he had been looking over with his son, 
locked them in his desk, and went into the outer 
office. 


294 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“Finished up your letters?” he asked the stenog- 
rapher. 

“ Not quite, sir.” 

“ Well ; let ’em be for a while, and take down this 
for me.” 

“ Yes, sir.” The stenographer drew the half-fin- 
ished letter out of his typewriter, entered a clean sheet 
on the roller, started with address and date, and sat 
waiting. 

“ Mr. Edward Longley,” began Mr. Bridges, Sr. 


XXXIII 


SHALL HE DO IT? 

“That's the way it looks to me,” said Mr. Ches- 
terdown to Longley, whom he had asked to call for 
a business talk. And the lawyer drew himself up in 
his chair and looked his wisest and most impressive. 
“ You see," he went on, “ the stocks which came up 
again a bit some little time ago, have begun to go 
down again, and they’re going, going, almost gone — 
on the run, too. Since I can’t consult with your mother 
and she has given you her power of attorney, I most 
strongly advise you to sell out, Longley. I think I 
can find a man simpleton enough to be purchaser on the 
hope of a rise — if we set about it at once." 

“ I’m sure you can," answered Longley, looking at 
him fixedly. “ And you’ll not have far to go for him 
either." 

Chesterdown ruffled. “What do you mean?" he 
asked hoarsely, his face flushing with anger. “ I " 

Ned noticed with surprise these evidences of emo- 
tion, which he interpreted only long afterward, and 
wondered whether, had he been a girl, like Kitty 
Hyde, Mr. Chesterdown would have shaken him. 

“ I mean," he said firmly, “ that I’m going to keep 
them myself in my mother’s name, and wait for the 
rise." 


295 


296 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

Chesterdown stared at him, and then burst into a 
disagreeable laugh. 

“ Poor Mrs. Longley ! She has a bad lookout. 
No, no, Longley; I do assure you you’re quite wrong. 
Your only chance is to sell out at once.” 

“ You think so? ” 

“ I’m certain of it.” 

“ Then I shall lose my only chance ; for I have 
made up my mind to hold on. I’ve been thinking 
that is what my father would have done. You say 
he was a fine business man. I shall imitate him as 
far as I can; I shall hold on, too.” 

“ The bottom is coming out of that mine,” retorted 
Chesterdown angrily ; “ and you'll go down with it. 
If it were only yourself, I’d say, ‘good enough for 
your obstinacy.’ But your mother and sister deserve 
consideration. They are not getting it.” 

“Yes — from me,” said Ned. 

“ No, sir, no, no, not from you at all ; but from 
me,” answered the lawyer. “ Come, Longley, be 
persuaded. You can’t run the risks for them that 
you’d run for yourself. Let me look up a man to- 
day, if I can find him.” 

And he gazed across anxiously at the other. 

“ Your interest is appreciated, Mr. Chesterdown. 
But I am quite decided on this point.” 

“ Then there is nothing more to be said.” 

“ Only one thing more. You remember the day of 
the — the day you were at our house, I gave you the 
certificate of the stock from my father’s safe in the 


SHALL HE DO IT? 


297 

library. Now, as I am taking the risk of these stocks, 
I’ll take back the certificates, if you please.” 

Chesterdown’s brow grew black as night. “ Such 
want of confidence in me is insulting,” he answered. 
“ But it saves me all trouble and responsibility. I 
give them up to you willingly, so far as I am con- 
cerned, reluctantly for the sake of your mother and 
Miss Longley, who deserve a better guardian of their 
small funds than you make.” He rose slowly and 
taking the certificates from his safe in the office where 
the two were seated, he handed them over to Ned. 
“ You’d better run them through from the list,” he 
sneered. 

“ Thank you,” said the other ; and he proceeded 
coolly to do this. 

Chesterdown fumed as he looked on. When it 
was over, he said : “ And now permit me to ask what 

you are going to do about those debts? They are 
heavy, as you know.” 

“ I propose to pay them all in time,” returned the 
young man. 

“ ‘ In time ’ ! ” sneered his listener. “ And who is 
going to give you the time? If you flout my advice, 
you must not expect the interest in your affairs you 
would otherwise receive. Remember that note which 
falls due in one month. Since your stocks in the mine 
will now prove no asset, I can’t by any means insure 
that it will be renewed.” 

Longley felt he was turning pale. But he braced 
himself. He was sure that he was right. 


298 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“The month is not over, Mr. Chesterdown,” he 
said with what indifference he could assume. Heaven 
knew where the money was coming from ; he did not. 
Still, he held on. He bade the lawyer good morning 
and went his way, first to put the certificates in safety, 
for he would not carry them about with him to some 
of the places into which his work sent him; and then 
for a moment to his room. He had kept on sending 
out his plays and other literary work, and there might 
be encouragement for him from some quarter. 

He found left by the postman a play back, an arti- 
cle returned, and another letter typewritten and post- 
marked from Mr. Bridges’ home. Was Grace ill? 
His heart seemed to stop beating as he tore open the 
envelope. 

It was the offer of Mr. Bridges that Longley should 
write advertisements for him. 

Ned stood staring at it, at first in disgust and im- 
petuous refusal. Then with gaze fixed upon the sal- 
ary named. And as he stared, a thought came to him ; 
for he was a young man who believed in God. 
Heaven had been mindful of his needs, even of the 
threatened note. Heaven was opening the way to 
him. Should he refuse to walk in it because he hated 
it? What a reason! “Take your time; think it 
over,” Mr. Bridges had said to him. Ned must think 
it over for the day, since he had to go at once to his 
newspaper office. He threw the rejected manuscript 
into his trunk, thrust Mr. Bridges’ letter into his 
pocket, and went to his work. 

But he was destined that day to prove the truth of 


SHALL HE DO IT? 


299 

the old saying that it never rains but it pours. When 
he entered the office, Mr. Marshall interrupted his 
writing; he usually growled good morning to him 
while still driving his pen. 

“This chair a minute, will you?” he said pulling 
forward a seat that had so often proved a chair of 
torture to applicants for his favor. 

Ned sat down in wonderment. 

“ I’ve been thinking of giving you a rise, Long- 
ley. How should you like it?” 

“ That depends on the kind and extent of the rise, 
Mr. Marshall.” 

“ That’s right. Well, the post of dramatic critic 
and some other work, and the salary to fit it, of 
course.” And he named this. “ I’ve been thinking 
about it for quite a while,” he added ; “ but I wanted 
to be sure. What do you say?” He had no doubt 
of this, however; for the position was much better 
than Ned’s present one, and the salary high for that 
paper. 

Longley expressed his appreciation. “ It’s what I’d 
like to do,” he said. “ But I’ve just had a better offer 
as regards price — one four times what you would 
give, Mr. Marshall; and though I confess that for 
pure liking, I would take yours as it stands, yet there 
are reasons why I must accept the other.” 

“What other paper has snapped you up while I’ve 
been hanging fire?” questioned Marshall. 

“No paper,” said Ned. And he told him. 

“The world’s going to wrack!” cried the editor, 
angry with himself that he had been so cautious and 


300 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

had not secured Longley earlier. “ There’s never a 
man who won’t sell his time, his talents, his genius, it 
may be, for filthy lucre. I’m ashamed of you, Long- 
ley. I thought better of you. That’s all. When 
are you going? ” 

“ I’m to talk over the arrangement this afternoon, 
if I can get off, Mr. Marshall.” 

“ Oh, you’ll get off altogether, short meter, not a 
doubt. Do what you like. I’ll find somebody to fill 
that place fast enough.” 

“ Don’t do it too fast, please,” answered the young 
man. “ Nothing can be decided about the other offer 
until I have talked it over this afternoon. I may say 
‘yes, thank you,’ to you, after all.” 

“ Umph ! ” retorted Marshall wheeling around to 
his work again. “Let me know to-morrow morn- 
ing,” he said. And the interview was over. 

Nothing would have induced Mr. Bridges to tell 
Longley that he had followed his letter to the city 
for the interview he asked for. He would not have 
considered that good business. He had merely made 
the appointment with Ned as in the interval of other 
engagements of more consequence. 

“ Bless my soul ! But you’re a tall feller ! ” he said, 
looking from the card to the young man who had 
followed it and now stood surveying him in turn. 

“Don’t you want a good deal of me?” asked the 
newcomer. 

“Ha! ha! ha! Longley. You’re sharper than 
your sister; but you’re mighty lucky if you’re half as 
good.” 


SHALL HE DO IT? 


301 

“ But I’m not so lucky as that,” Ned assured him, 
laughing, falling into his humor, and delighted at the 
praise of Grace. 

“Well! Sit down, sit down; and let’s have it 
out.” 

They had it out, as Mr. Bridges put it, for nearly 
an hour. At the end of that time Longley went away 
pledged to do Mr. Bridges’ work to the best of his 
ability. 

Before leaving the hotel he telephoned Marshall 
and resigned his place on the paper, subject to the 
editor’s convenience. 

“ Oh, drop it where it is,” the other growled back. 
“You won’t be good for anything with your heart on 
the money bags.” 

And Longley did drop it. 

That night he wrote Grace an account of the inter- 
view between Mr. Chesterdown and himself, and of 
what he had decided in regard to the mining stock. 
“ I hope I’ve done what is best for you and mamma,” 
he wrote. “ I remembered what father said once — 
that it was the way to hold on; so many lost because 
they did not. And do you know what Mr. Bridges, 
the elder one, has proposed to me?” And he gave 
her an account of the afternoon's talk, and the ar- 
rangement made. “He is very generous, Grace,” 
wrote Ned. “I’ll try to make good to him. It was 
a great temptation to take Marshall’s offer instead, 
because it’s just the thing I need. But poor mam- 
ma’s face stood between me and it; and I’m so glad 
of this other offer.” 


302 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

Grace one day asked Mr. Bridges' opinion as to 
this matter of holding on to an investment. 

“ Yes, a bulldog grip is a good thing for the most 
part/’ he said. “ But if you’re goin’ to hold on, you 
ought to have something worth while to hold to.” 

She explained why she had asked him. 

“ Bless my soul ! ” he cried immediately interested. 
“That’s just what I’d think he’d do. He’s clear 
grit, that brother of yours, Gr — Miss Longley. What 
is the stock? ” 

Grace did not know, further than that it was min- 
ing stock. 

“Bless my soul! Mining stock!” ejaculated Mr. 
Bridges. “ Ah, well, that depends, you see. Still, 
the bulldog grip is a good thing on the whole. Yes, 
yes, my dear.” 

Within a fortnight Ned, standing with Grace at 
their mother’s bedside, was thankful that he had ac- 
cepted Mr. Bridges’ work, and preferred her com- 
fort to his ambition. 

“ It will be done to-morrow,” she said to them in 
a stronger voice than they had heard at their last visit 
to her. She was speaking of the operation of which 
at last she had been fully informed. “ I thought they 
were mistaken about my back, that it was stronger 
than they said.” She paused a moment and looked 
pathetically from one to the other. “ It was not. I 
tried it. I would sit up. I persisted three days, 
though the pain made me faint. Then I gave it up. 
I may live for years as I am, Dr. Armstrong says; 


SHALL HE DO IT? 


303 

but if I do, I shall always be like this, only gradually 
failing. The operation gives me — no, not half a 
chance, it’s rather more than that against me. But 

I’m going to try it, dear ones. If it fail ” she 

broke off abruptly and an intense resolution animated 
her pale face. “ But it’s not going to fail,” she said 
with strong cheerfulness. “ I want you dear ones 
near me when it succeeds. They will let you come 
to me as soon as possible, the doctor has promised me. 
It is not going to fail,” she repeated. 

“ Oh, no, no, mamma ! ” echoed Grace, kissing her 
and saying a few fond words in her mother’s own 
cheerfulness of tone, even while Ned felt the clench- 
ing of her little hand stretched out behind her to his. 
At that moment he could not have spoken. It seemed 
to him that when it was a question of real pluck, it was 
always the woman rather than the man who led. 

Mrs. Longley spoke of Dorothy and of Priscy Pell, 
and talked a few minutes of college life. She did not 
yet know of the change in their fortunes. If the 
operation went badly, she would never know. But 
if well, she should know everything as soon as she 
was able to bear it. 

“ I’m going to have my children with me this sum- 
mer,” she said, smiling at them as they left her, to 
return for a short visit in the afternoon. Then she 
must rest in preparation. 

In the hotel where they were waiting, Grace sobbed 
herself to quiet in her brother’s arms. But she 
stopped her tears when he said to her : 

“ You mustn’t have your eyes red for this after- 


304 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

noon, dearie; that would distress her. And it may 

be the last interview with any hope of ” 

Then he broke down himself. 

They were not to see her in the morning, only to 
have a telephone as to how she was. And another 
immediately after the ordeal. 


XXXIV 


CONSULTATIONS 

Again Grace and Ned stood by their mother’s bed- 
side. She lay white and motionless with closed eyes, 
not even her hand was reached without the coverlet. 

First her daughter and then her son stooped and 
kissed her very softly, very tenderly, with a low whis- 
pered word. At this she opened her eyes and tried 
to smile at them; her lips moved, as if she were try- 
ing to speak. But the nurse watching, came between. 

“No! no! She must not talk. She must not 
waste her strength. You must go,” she said to them 
in an undertone, and gently pushed them toward the 
door. And with lingering, backward looks they 
obeyed her instantly. 

Beyond the closed door they turned and silently 
looked into one another’s eyes, as if there each could 
read in hope or despair the fate impending. Grace 
was trembling. Ned drew her along the corridor 
downstairs to the room below. 

“ We are to wait here an hour or two, in case — 
we should be needed,” he said; “ and then go back to 
the hotel. The doctor told me the first twenty-four 
hours would be the most uncertain, although he could 
not be confident that things were really going well 
305 


306 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

under a fortnight. Still, every good day of the first 
week would lessen the danger of relapse, and every 
good day of the second week would add to the proba- 
bility of her recovery.” Grace put her arms about 
his neck and stood, still trembling. “ Little sister/’ 
he said, “ I don’t believe we have come so far without 
the good prospect of going further.” And he stroked 
her hair caressingly. 

“ You hope? ” 

“ I do. But, of course, I don’t know, Graciosa.” 

“ She looks fearfully. And we must both go back 
after to-morrow, and hear only by telephone. That’s 
so hard. But, Ned dear, I will be brave, like you.” 

Like him! He felt as if his courage were only a 
bubble which she could pierce in an instant if she but 
knew it. 

Dorothy Brooke sat in the studio with Rose Hewes, 
lunching at the same little table and off somewhat the 
same kind of viands that had delighted Kitty Hyde. 
But that morning Dorothy scarcely knew what she 
was eating, she was listening and talking so eagerly. 

All had gone well with Rose. She had won the 
first prize for her picture, “ Girlhood Dreams,” the 
idealized portrait of Kitty Hyde; and the money was 
to take her to Paris in the autumn. She was to 
spend the summer at home, to the great happiness of 
her mother who had sacrificed much for Rose’s good, 
and to the secret pleasure of Mr. Hewes who now 
felt that he had been a wise man to foresee that his 
daughter’s talent was to be worth money to her. In 


CONSULTATIONS 


307 

his heart of hearts he believed that she would do bet- 
ter to put the sum to her credit in the bank and leave 
the interest to accumulate, than to go spending all of 
it, and more, in a foreign country. But this view of 
the matter he kept to himself, sure that if he aired it, 
he would be laughed at. He rather enjoyed opposi- 
tion, but ridicule was a terror to him. 

Rose was to go home in a week; and this was the 
last tong, quiet time that the girls would have to- 
gether. 

“ It’s odd how things turn out,” said Dorothy medi- 
tatively as she roused to the present enough to praise 
the delicious coffee and the whole luncheon in retro- 
spect. “ Here you’re going to live like a bohemian ; 
and you will be so much more comfortable than many, 
just on account of those days when you worked so 
hard and learned how to cook, and to do everything 
so quickly and so skillfully. When you were toiling 
over roasting meats and making gravies, and en- 
trees of all kinds, and salads and delicious desserts, 
and helping to make everything about the house so 
comfortable, who ever thought that you were in train- 
ing for Paris and the artist life there? ” 

“ That’s so, Dorothy. We can’t tell, can we? I 
suppose if we could, we’d be more patient sometimes 
over the hard places.” 

“ Yes, I suppose so,” answered Dorothy. “ It’s the 
old story of the climb, and the view.” 

“ Oh, how fine ! ” cried Rose. “ I shall always re- 
member that — the climb, and the view.” 

But Dorothy was silent. She was thinking of what 


308 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

Priscy had said in regard to the improvement that 
Ned’s experiences had made in him. 

“ I’m to sail the last of August, or early in Sep- 
tember,” began Rose. “ The date has not been quite 
decided upon. It seems like a dream, Dorothy.” 

“ So it is, Rose — a wide awake dream.” 

The talk turned upon what Rose meant to do when 
she arrived in Paris. A fellow artist, an interesting 
girl, was to sail with her. 

“ If we don’t fall out on the voyage, we’ll set up our 
housekeeping together,” said Rose. Then she sat 
looking at Dorothy. “Your picture brought me my 
first luck,” she said. “ I’m going to paint another por- 
trait of you when we both get famous.” 

“ Oh, do ! ” cried her listener laughing. “ But 
you’re getting there already, Rose, with your prizes 
and complimentary newspaper notices. Don’t grow 
tired of waiting for me.” 

“ I shall run in to see you again before you go 
home,” said Dorothy that afternoon as she left Rose. 

Longley sat looking at Dorothy with eyes that must 
always veil somewhat of their passionate devotion. If 
he could hold himself in leash and remain outwardly 
only her dear friend and collaborator, and not her 
ardent lover, he might keep his place beside her. No 
one could tell what this cost him. But it was worth 
it. 

That afternoon as he sat with her in the reception 
room at Ridgemore, once again discussing work that 
they had done together, he was more like his old self 


CONSULTATIONS 309 

than Dorothy had seen him since that terrible night 
at the theatre. 

“ No, the danger is not over,” he said in answer to 
her eager question of Mrs. Longley’s condition. “ But 
every day is a day gained; every day hope grows 
stronger. I believe as she does, that she will recover. 
Don’t I look it? ” 

“ I thought so the moment you came in, I had a 
letter from Grace this morning,” she added. “ From 
what Grace says, Mrs. Bridges must be outdoing her- 
self.” 

“ I supect father and son have sat down on her 
hard,” he answered. “ It would take a good deal to 
subdue her. And I suspect, if she is downed in one 
place, she rises up in another.” 

Dorothy nodded comprehendingly. “ Like dough,” 
she said. 

Both laughed. It seemed strange and good to Ned 
to hear his own voice in mirth. 

“Yet what will all these annoyances be if our 
mother recover? ” he said softely, as if to himself. 

Dorothy looked at him in silence a moment, her 
eyes dim. Then she said : “ Kitty Hyde came to me 
yesterday. She wanted to see if I liked her render- 
ing of the part we had given her. What a time we 
had to get her accepted. Like it! Why, Ned, she 
does it superbly. I was delighted.” 

“ Priscy is another card, I know,” he said. 

“ Indeed, she is. But not like Kitty. Mr. Norris 
ran in this morning,” she added. “ He wanted me to 
ask you to see him the next time you came. He says 


310 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

he has something about the play to talk over with 
you,” Suddenly, she drew a deep breath. “ I do be- 
lieve it’s going to succeed, Ned!” she cried. “Every- 
body is so interested. I so hope it will.” 

For, at last, a play that they had collaborated was 
to be presented by the college dramatic club, and given 
in the theatre in town connected with the two col- 
leges. Longley hoped that afterward they would be 
able to sell it, even if it brought but little money. The 
manager of one of the city theatres had the play under 
consideration. 

“ But everything depends on how it turns out here,” 
added Ned speaking of this to Dorothy. “ If we can 
make a success of it, we shall begin to earn money, 
Dorothy; even if only a little, it will be encouraging.” 

“The money should be for you — for your mother; 
not for me when I don’t need it,” was upon the girl’s 
lips as she looked up. But she dared not say it; for 
she knew, not only that Ned would refuse it, but that 
the suggestion would seem an insult to him. 

“ How splendid that would be ! ” she answered. She 
refrained from telling him of something she had done 
in the hope of its opening a way to him for theatri- 
cal or literary work of some kind — how she had writ- 
ten to Mrs. Harris of the coming play, and of the vital 
importance it was to Ned Longley that it should be a 
success. Mrs. Harris, formerly Miss Leslie at Hos- 
mer Hall, knew well what had fallen upon Grace and 
her brother. She felt with Dorothy that if Mr. Har- 
ris liked the play, he might do something for Ned. 
He ought to see it. Dorothy, lost in a dream of what 


CONSULTATIONS 


3ii 

might happen if he did come, was aroused by Ned’s 
saying to her: 

“I wonder what Norris wants? Something about 
the play, you said? He has been no end of kind to 
us. Wouldn’t you like to know what it is?” 

“ I should very much,” she answered. “ Yes, he 
said it was about the play.” 

“ What do you say to my telephoning him to come 
and talk it over here? ” he asked. “ Oh, and here’s 
Miss Hyde,” as Kitty entered the room and came to- 
ward Dorothy. “ Now, if you can only get Priscy, 
Norris will be sure to come,” he added in a laughing 
aside. 

“I’ll try, while you telephone,” said Dorothy; and 
excusing herself for a moment to Kitty, she quitted 
the room and soon came back with Priscy. 

“Pell-Mell says she was just longing for something 
to do,” she assured the others. 

When Norris arrived, which he did promptly, he 
was in his best humor. “We ought to ring down the 
curtain on this dress rehearsal,” he said, glancing 
about him at the group of students who were stand- 
ing as near as their conquering curiosity had drawn 
them. 

The girls at once took the hint and moved further 
off, pretending to be wholly occupied in a lively dis- 
cussion. Susie Codman, who had guests and had car- 
ried them to the farther end of the long room, nodded 
to Dorothy comprehendingly as she caught her eye. 

“ Something important popped into my mind, Long- 
ley,” began Norris; “or it seems important to me. 


312 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

I’m glad to air it here and get a consensus of opinion.” 
And he made several excellent suggestions for which 
they all thanked him. Priscy and Kitty and he dis- 
cussed certain scenes, and the discussion of these 
brought out what would make telling points to an 
audience. With much amusement thrown in, a great 
deal of good work was done in the hour that they all 
spent together. 

When she was alone that evening, Dorothy thought 
over what Ned had told her about his arrangement 
with Mr. Bridges and the latter’s generous terms. Of 
course, Ned must accept them for his mother’s sake. 
“ I should have done the same for my mother,” 
thought the girl. But she remembered how much the 
position of critic would have helped the dramatic 
work, and she knew that he longed for it. “ And as 
to Grace, Mrs. Bridges’ patronage must be worse 
than her snubs,” Dorothy said to herself. 

Meanwhile, Ned with a hint of the old life dancing 
through his veins took his homeward way. A play 
to be brought out at last ! It would succeed. It would 
be sold — at a small price probably; but that would be 
something. And Dorothy had wanted him to take 
the whole price ; he had seen in her face ! But he was 
glad she had not ventured to say it to him; he would 
not have liked himself had he been the kind of fel- 
low to whom she could have said it. But it was so 
lovely in her to want it. 

As he walked on, day-dreaming, more plays were 
produced; greater success came; fame, and with it, 
money. Hope dawned in his heart. What if one day 


CONSULTATIONS 


3^3 


he had enough for his mother, and for Dorothy, too? 
What if he could finish out that unspoken question 
forever in his heart, and ask her to be his wife? 

Would she? 

Yet everything, except for long years, before which 
somebody else might woo and. win her, depended upon 
that stock to which he had held on, not at his own 
risk alone, but at his mother’s and Grace’s also. If 
this should prove a mistake, what did he not owe to 
them ? 

But his mood was so happy that he would only 
hope. The stock and other things also would come 
right. He held out his hand for a paper when the 
newsboy called it, and opened it hurriedly at the min- 
ing records. 

His stock had gone down two points ! 

He crushed the paper in his hands. 

“ Nothing will come,” he said to himself sharply, 
“ except what Grace and I grub for.” 


XXXV 


GRACE LONGLEY’s WAY 

“ My friend, Miss Longley — that is, she was my 
friend two years ago; now she’s my companion also, 
the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Edward Longley, so 
well known in society. He was killed in a dreadful 
automobile accident, you remember; and she was 
dreadfully hurt.” Then in an undertone: “ They 
lost all their money with their father’s death — bad in- 
vestments. But that makes it lucky for me, for it 
gives me just the young lady I’d have chosen to be 
with me.” 

Introductions of this kind were frequent during 
the first few weeks of Grace’s stay with Mrs. Bridges. 
It was only after her son had chanced to overhear this 
statement that Grace was relieved. Her next intro- 
duction was very simple. Mrs. Bridges explained to 
her later that Charley had sat down on her hard for 
trying to make Miss Longley interesting to her 
friends. “ You liked to have me tell them who you 
were, didn’t you? ” she asked. 

“ Oh, no, no,” cried Grace with an involuntary 
shudder. 

“ Well, now, I tried to be kind,” returned Mrs. 
Bridges. “ I wanted people to like you.” 

314 


GRACE LONGLEY’S WAY 315 

Grace understood that the other had been exploit- 
ing the Longley family to publish her own luck in 
having secured a society girl in such a capacity. If 
she had not been so pained at this constant reference 
to her misfortunes, she would have smiled at the idea 
of her being a society girl; it had never been her am- 
bition. 

But it was scenes of a different nature that most se- 
verely tried the girl's character and ability. One of 
these Mr. Bridges related to his son a few weeks 
after Grace’s arrival. He called him into the private 
office one day and shut the door with care. 

“ Sit down there, Charley,” he said. “ We’ve had it 
this mornin’; an’ if I don’t let out to you, I’m afraid 
I shall to somebody, an’ that won’t do. She’s a 
dandy, an’ no mistake.” 

“ Who is ? ” questioned the other. But he knew. 

“Just let me git onto it my own way,” said his 
father. “ You know your mother’s wrong foot is al- 
ways the handiest one.” 

The son nodded, waiting for what was to come. 

“But, bless my soul! It’s been handier ’n ever 
since Flo’s last visit. If she puts on airs ’cause she’s 
married a literary feller — I dunno; I never knuckled 
to him noways. But I didn’t have to marry him, 
an’ if she’s satisfied, I ought to be. But, anyhow, 
you know, she an’ the marm never could hitch horses 
without a many nippin’s an’ flare-ups. Well, as I 
was sayin’, the marm’s had the wrong foot disease 
worse hi ever since Flo was here. An’ this mornin’ 


3i 6 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

you never saw anythin’ like it. You weren’t to 
breakfast, you know — just in from an auto run, ain’t 
you ? ” 

“Yes,” said the other. “But tell me what hap- 
pened?” 

“ Well,” answered Bridges, Sr., with that dryness 
of humor which he had bequeathed to his son, 
“ there didn’t so much happen as usual. Marm 
scolded me till I laughed and laughed. ’Tis aggra- 
vatin’ to have anybody laugh when you’re cross your- 
self, I know. But what could I do? Bless my soul, 
I couldn’t be mad with her, no more than if she was a 
baby. She means all right. But she don’t have nothin’ 
else to cross her, an’ everybody has to have somethin’, 
you see. Well, as I was sayin’, that wrong foot was 
kickin’ like a good one when we got down to break- 
fast. There was Grace — Miss Longley, I should say, 
waitin’ in the room in the sweetest kind of a rig, I 
don’t know what it was, but she looked mighty nice. 
Did you ever notice, Charley, she’s the kind that 
grows on you ? She’s not a real beauty by no means ; 
but she looks a little prettier to-day than she did yes- 
terday; an’ the more you git used to her, the more 
the pretty comes out. It’s there; but she don’t throw 
it around for everybody to admire. I guess she keeps 
it for home consumption.” 

“Yes, yes; but tell me,” said Charley. 

The father threw at his son a glance of shrewdness 
mixed with anxiety. Did he want to be done with it? 

“That’s what I’m doin’,” he retorted. “Where 
was I? Oh, yes; we’d just sat down to breakfast. I 


GRACE LONGLEY’S WAY 317 

saw the marm give a look at Miss Longley as she said 
good mornin’ to her. I guess she thought she had 
some style with her ways so quiet an’ dignified — the 
marm’s great for style, you know; an’ for just a 
minute I thought she was goin’ to take example an’ 
quiet down herself.” 

“ But didn’t she, before Miss Longley?” asked 
Charley. “ She ought not to make such exhibitions 
of herself. You ought to forbid it, dad.” 

“ * Forbid it ’ — I ! ” retorted Bridges with a laugh 
that had a touch of sadness in it. “ Why, Charley, I 
could easier make a million ! But ” 

“But she did stop soon, I hope?” cried the son. 

“I’m cornin’ to it,” said his hearer. “You’ll have 
to wait till I git there. Well, I congratulated myself 
too soon. She poured the coffee mutterin’ about its 

bein’ so poor ’twas fine, Charley. But when 

Bridget comes along bringin’ the muffins, didn’t the 
poor creature have to take it! They were a bit 
burned, to be sure; but not much; there was plenty 
left to eat, and plenty of other things if she didn’t 
want the muffins. But, bless my soul! when that 
wrong foot kicks, it don’t need things to kick at, it 
just hits round promiscus. She let herself go that 
mornin’; an’ she went, I tell you! I don’t think she 
knew herself half the things she said; she got so mad, 
she was dyin’ to make somebody else mad, and 
wouldn’t stop till she did ” 

His listener uttered an exclamation of anger and 
mortification. 

“ I didn’t hear half she said,” went on the speaker. 


3 iB DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“ I never do. An’ this mornin’ I was watchin’ the 
little girl. She set there, her head down, her face 
red. I’ll bet there’d been tears in her eyes if she’d 
looked up. She was try in’ to eat her breakfast, but 
she didn’t make out very well; she looked to me as if 
she’d never been in such a place before.” 

“ I guess she never had,” returned Charley. “ Too 
bad! I’m awfully ashamed of mother. I ” 

“ But I’m not through yet,” interrupted his father. 
“ At last, by the time the little girl was all but trem- 
blin’, your marm turned around an' pitched into me. 
’Twas about some of my mistakes, I dare say. I 
.make ’em, same as the rest of the world. But I don’t 
care to have ’em aired at the table before the servants. 
I didn’t mind Miss Grace so much, I knew she was 
mindin’ it so herself. I knew she wished she was a 
thousand miles off.” 

“Too bad! Too bad!” commented the younger 
man. 

“ I didn’t say much back to the marm,” his father 
went on. “What was the use? I knew she’d have 
her talk out — or I thought so. An’ I kept on watchin’ 
the little girl. I could see a change come over her 
when your mother pitched into me. First, she started. 
I knew she didn’t have tears in her eyes then, for she 
was firm round the mouth an’ she didn’t look red any 
more. I kind of felt I knew what was in her mind. 
Under it all she was mad at such talk, I’m sure she 
was. But there was somethin’ else, too ; an’ her know- 
in’ she couldn’t git up an’ go away, but had to stay 
an’ hear it all put the thought there. She was re- 


GRACE LONGLEY’S WAY 


3i9 

memberin’ she was paid to work here; an’ it had 
come into her mind this was the kind of work she 
was paid for. When that idea got hold of her, she 
was a different creature — she’s the kind that wants 
to earn her money. I could see her bracin’ up. ‘Bless 
my soul!’ I said to myself. ‘What can she do?’ 
But there’s mighty good stuff in her, I tell you, Char- 
ley.” 

“I think so, too,” assented the other. 

“Well, marm was runnin’ on as fast as ever,” con- 
tinued the elder man. “ But at last she got out of 
breath an’ had to hold up a minute ; I could see though, 
she hadn’t an idea of stoppin’, she was only waitin’ 
for more wind. I didn’t say nothin’; I just hung on 
to see what would happen.” He halted and looked 
amused. 

“ What did happen, dad? ” 

“She happened,” retorted Bridges, Sr .,— -“she 
happened to speak. She looked up at marm, and half 
smiled, as if she’d been hearin’ pleasant things said. 
Her eyes had a look of holdin’ on to one; I saw marm 
felt it. I hoped the little girl warn’t goin’ to try any 
reprovin’. I knew that always sent marm up like a 
charge of dynamite. But I needn’t have worried. 
* Mrs. Bridges,’ she said in that voice of hers so quiet, 
but you hear it all over the room, ‘ do you remember 
the name of that feller in the story we were readin’ 
yesterday, the feller that stammered so an’ made his 
name sound so funny? I was writin’ Dorothy about 
it last night, an’ I couldn’t git his name. I left a 
space an’ thought I’d ask you this mornin’. I’ve 


320 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

noticed you’ve a great memory for names. Mr. 
Bridges/ an’ she turned to me anxious but not trem- 
blin’ one mite, ‘ have you ever noticed how remark- 
ably Mrs. Bridges remembers names? It’s quite won- 
derful to me who am always forgettin’ them.’ Then 
she turned an’ looked at marm again, as steady as a 
rock, an’ as confident as if she’d got there already.” 

By this time the young man was listening intently. 

“ An’ so she had, Charley! For when marm opened 
her mouth again, it was to tell Miss Longley the name 
she had asked for. You’d have died laughin’ to hear 
how sweet she tried to make her voice, an’ to see how 
pleased she looked. Muffins an’ coffee an’ all my sins 
weren’t in it any more. Miss Longley had asked in- 
formation from her — Miss Longley, the college an’ 
society girl, an’ had called her ‘ wonderful ’ in some- 
thin’ she herself didn’t have. Marm felt herself a 
person of importance. She looked at me as if to say, 
‘You see how I’m appreciated!’ An’ you better 
b’lieve I began to praise up her memory. I went the 
whole biz; I wasn’t goin’ to leave the little girl in the 
lurch when she’d done such a stunt for me. An’ now, 
Charley, I’m posted. A diversion an’ a compliment — • 
the bigger, the better. You an’ I’ll catch on — eh, 
Charley?” 

The young man laughed. “And did mother keep 
straight after that?” he inquired. 

“ We two didn’t give her no chance to twist up 
again. I said that must be a good story; I hadn’t no 
time to read it myself, but I wished she’d give me the 


GRACE LONGLEY’S WAY 321 

points, she could remember ’em so well. She hove 
ahead, and turned now an’ agen to Miss Grace, to see 
if she was right? I was on thorns to go, my head was 
full of that biz you an’ I’ve been talkin’ over, an’ I 
didn’t hear much story; but I daren’t move till she 
was finished. Then she sent Bridget out for a hot 
muffin, an’ I left her eatin’ it an’ laughin’ with Miss 
Grace, I dunno about what — laughin’ was the only 
point.” 

“Miss Longley’s just splendid!” cried his listener 
enthusiastically. 

“That’s so. I felt she ought to be rewarded; an’ 
the next time I got her alone, I told her I thought she 

didn’t have enough salary for her expert work ” 

“Did you say that to her?” interrupted the other. 

“You bet I did; an’ some other nice things, too, 
about her management. But everybody doesn’t like 
compliments the same way. I could see she didn’t. 
An’ she wouldn’t hear of more salary — said I gave 
her too much now. Bless my soul ! that’s a new thing 
under the sun, isn’t it?” 

“ I wish she’d taken it,” returned Charley. “ You 
could afford it, and I suspect they have very heavy 
expenses just now. But, of course, you can’t give 
money to people like her and her brother, if they 
don’t feel they are earning it.” 

Mr. Bridges, Sr., pondered a moment over this 
remark. Then his face lighted, as if he had found a 
pleasant solution of the difficulty. 

“ Hold on a minute, Charley,” he said as his son 
was rising to go. “ I’ve got somethin’ to say to you.'” 


322 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

Here he came to a halt, rose and began to walk 
back and forth, as if the thing were not so easy to 
say. 

“ Out with it, dad,” encouraged the young man. 

“ I have to go.” 

The elder one stopped in his walk and stood look- 
ing down at his son. 

“ You could give her the money, Charley,” he said. 
“ You’re the one to do it. You’ve always been a feller 
to be fond of swell things an’ fine people,” he went 
on. “An’ as to ladies, they don’t make ’em better 
than Grace Longley.” 

“ They did make them more charming, though,” 
ran the other’s thought. But he did not utter it. 

“ You couldn’t bring anybody better into the family 
‘ — no, nor half so good,” pursued his father with em- 
phasis. 

And the son forgave him because he had never seen 
Dorothy. 

“ Marry her, marry her, Charley,” entreated the 
elder man, his mind upon Grace. “ You couldn’t do 
better, I say.” 

“ You’re out there,” thought the young man. But 
all he said to his father was : “ I must be going. 

Good morning, dad.” 

“ Wouldn’t you like to see your brother and Miss 
Brooke’s play, Miss Longley?” asked Charley 
Bridges a few days before its performance. 

“Of course, I should. But I’ve been away so much 
to see mamma that I wouldn’t ask to go just for 



“YOU COULD GIVE HER THE MONEY, CHARLEY.” 






; •. vW f 










































■ 




























. 









GRACE LONGLEY’S WAY 


323 

amusement,” returned Grace. “But thank you for 
thinking of it, Mr. Bridges.” 

“But should you feel it necessary to go alone?” 
he went on. “ You would escort my mother, wouldn’t 
you? ” 

She looked up at him in surprise. 

“ But your mother would not care to go,” she said. 
“ She would not think it worth taking all that trouble 
to see.” 

He looked at her half smilingly, half teasingly. “ I 
think she’d like to go,” he answered. 

The following morning Mrs. Bridges announced to 
Grace that they would run up to the city the next day, 
and she would do a little shopping, and they would 
stay over for the play — “ Your brother and Miss 
Brooke’s, you know,” she said as Grace looked at her 
inquiringly. 

“ I’m so glad you’re interested in that ! ” cried the 
girl joyfully, and secretly wondering how Mr. 
Bridges had managed it; for until now his mother 
had appeared indifferent. “ And thank you for tak- 
ing me,” she added. “ I should so like to see it.” It 
occurred to her that her wishes might have had weight 
with the other. 

“ Oh, that’s all right,” returned Mrs. Bridges tak- 
ing the cue readily. “Of course, I want to be kind to 
you. And besides,” she went on, “ it will be a swell 
affair, I understand. Hosts of first-class people will 
be there. It belongs to me to be among them.” 

Then Grace perceived what argument had been 
used in the persuasion, and recalled the old proverb 


324 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

that the real reason always comes after the “besides.” 
But for all this, she was going, thanks to Charley 
Bridges. Nor was she without perception why he 
wished to go. 

The morning of the play Dorothy received a note 
from Ned. 

“ Dear Dorothy,” it ran : 

“ News from mamma of the best; she is considered 
out of danger. Now the play will go well, whatever 
happens here. Also a check from Mr. Harris for my 
story, which you’ll be glad to hear. I had to send you 
a line. We may be too busy for a word to-night. 

“ Sincerely yours, 

“ Ned.” 

Dorothy also had received a check from Mr. Har- 
ris for another of her stories. And, better still, she 
had had a letter from Mrs. Harris that they were 
coming to the play. 

This was to be her surprise to Ned. She hoped 
that something worth while to him would come out 
of it. 


XXXVI 


“ THE SECRET ” 

The following play written in collaboration by Ned 
Longley and Dorothy Brooke, was presented by the 
Dramatic Club: 


THE SECRET 
Comedy in Two Acts 
Dramatis Personae: 

Roger Lufton, suitor of Helen Comers. .John Norris 
Richard Cramner, Lufton’s friend Rex Brooke 

Helen Comers, wooed by Roger Lufton, Priscilla Pell 

Harriet Mortimer, friend to Helen Comers 

Kitty Hyde 

Mrs. Salters, companion to Helen Comers 

Mary Hartwell 


Chauffeur, Servants, &c., &c. 


326 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 


ACT I 

Scene I 

Time: Early October. 

Driveway of handsome house. Lufton and Cram- 
ner standing waiting for motor car coming toward 
them , chauffeur driving. House behind; road in dis - 
tance in front. Lufton speaking: 

Lufton (to Cramner) — Yes on the whole I’ll do it. 
Why not? I might at least see her. 

Cramner — I’ve always said so. What’s the harm in 
taking a peep? It may be worth no end of thousands 
to you. You may fall desperately in love with her. 

Lufton (laughing incredulously) — Not my way! 
But I think I’ll go and have the matter settled ; it hangs 
over me disagreeably. To be sure, I’ve only to do 
nothing; and, after a time, that settles it. 

Cramner (laughing) — But if she should say “no ” 
and settle it, that settlement will be just what you 
want — eh? (Looks at him keenly.) 

Lufton — She may have a lover of her own and pre- 
fer him to me, or the spondulax. That would be fine. 

Cramner (heartily) — Yes, that would be very fine — 
just what you want. 

Lufton (incisively) — What! (Regaining his cool- 
ness.) Oh, yes, yes, indeed! Exactly what I want. 

Cramner — So, the matter, or rather the lady, will be 
off your mind, and the money in your purse. Are 


“ THE SECRET ” 


3 2 7 

you thinking of going off to see her this morning in- 
stead of our first plan to the meet? 

Lufton — By no means. I must give a little warning. 
I have written her I am coming. (He takes out a 
letter.) Here’s my warning, and it’s going into the 
first post-office we pass this morning. 

Cramner (approvingly) — Excellent! If she is en- 
gaged to anybody else, she’ll be sure to write you not 
to come; and that will settle it just as you wish. 

Lufton (after a pause) — Certainly. (Another 
pause.) I’ve heard that she is very charming. But 
what does rumor count for? Then, opinions differ. 
My own opinion and hers must decide the matter. 

( The car has approached and stands waiting.) But 
now we’re off to the meet. We shall think of nobody 
but the aviators. ( Both enter the motor car which 
starts off immediately , moving slowly toward the 
right wing of the stage , Lufton and Cramner busily 
talking . ) ( Exeunt. ) 

Scene II. — Boudoir in Harriet Mortimer’s house , 
prettily furnished, not richly. Helen Comers and Har- 
riet — always called “ Harry,” discovered seated to- 
gether in easy-chairs and in earnest conversation. 

Helen — Here he has been waiting for three months 
without a word to me! If he would only keep on that 
way until the end of the time allowed, it would be 
perfect, exactly what I most desire. But if he has 
been taking three months to make up his mind as to 
this business, for it is a business — that’s another mat- 
ter ! I can imagine him standing first on one foot and 


328 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

then on the other, considering whether he would set 
out on them at all? It’s altogether too much, Harry? 

Harry — If he knew you, he wouldn’t try it, Helen. 

Helen (meditatively) — But then, we’re both in a 
hard place. A living man’s will is elastic; it can be 
stretched until it breaks; but a dead man’s will is of 
steel ; you can’t break it — for the most part. 

Harry (thoughtfully) — Sometimes you can. And 
you can twist it. 

Helen ( with eagerness) — It’s what I should like to 
do with Uncle Lufton’s will. Do you remember all the 
conditions, Harry? Benjamin Lufton who died last 
summer, left his great fortune, with the exception of 
a few legacies, to his nephew, Roger Lufton, and to 
me, his wife’s niece, equally divided, provided we 
marry one another. But the one of us who refuses 
the other, loses his, or her share of the fortune. If 
this nephew decide to let me alone, he will hold out to 
me his fortune instead of his hand 

Harry (interrupting ) — That would be fine ! 

Helen (with deliberation) — Perfect! And it looks 
now as if he would. But he has six months to decide 
in. I shall not be out of danger until nearly Christ- 
mas. The tenter-hooks are so hard to hang on, 
Harry. I wish it were settled — the right way, of 
course. 

Harry (reaching over and laying a hand upon 
Helen's caressingly) — It is too hard, my darling child! 
But, remember, there’s something worse than uncer- 
tainty. 

(Enter maid with letter which she hands to Harry 


“ THE SECRET” 329 

and Harry passes on to Helen who takes it and tears it 
open eagerly .) 

Helen — Whom can this be from? I don’t recognize 
the handwriting. ( She glances at the signature and 
utters an exclamation of dismay.) You’re right, 
Harry. There is something worse than uncertainty 
— and here it is! The letter is from him! (She holds 
it out to Harry.) 

Harry (starting) — What! Not Mr. Lufton — oh, 
Helen! (She seizes the letter and reads it eagerly, 
then looks up at Helen.) Why! He’s really coming! 
And next week. That will be in the midst of your 
visit to me. He’ll have to come here. 

Helen ( with decision ) — Oh, no, Harry. It can’t be 
in that way; I wish it could. I should dearly like to 
have you with me in the ordeal. (She starts and 
speaks eagerly.) Why can’t you come to visit me 
then? 

Harry (with anxiety and delight) — What! Really! 
Shan’t I be in the way? Do you want me? 

Helen — Want you! I always want you. (She 
sighs.) I only wish I could marry you, Harry. 

Harry (starting up impulsively) — You shall, Helen ! 
(Helen stares at her.) You shall, I tell you, if you 
really want to ! Why, that’s the way out ! Remember 
our school theatricals. Wasn’t I always the man 
there. I’m tall and big enough to make a good one. 
I tell you I’ll be your husband, Helen. Won’t you ac- 
cept me, Helen dear? (She falls on her knees and 
holds up her hands in mock heroics. Then the two 
spring up and stand facing one another ; both much 
excited. ) 


330 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

Helen (eagerly) — So you shall, Harry. And we’ll 
be ready for Mr. Lufton when he arrives. But, you 
know, it will have to be a real marriage ceremony. 
He’ll ask to see certificates, I dare say. But we will 
be quite ready for him. Let’s sit down and plan it 
all out this minute. How lucky you’ve never visited 
me. Nobody there can remember you. 

Harry — When will you tell Mr. Lufton to come? 
Can’t you put him off? 

Helen (after a moment's thought) — I won’t write 
at all. Don’t you see I should have to sign my name. 
We’ll be married immediately and then go home and 
wait for him. You see, he writes that he will come, 
unless he hear from me to the contrary. No doubt, 
he’d like to have me refuse him before he asks me. 
He shall not have that satisfaction. He’d like to get 
rid of me and have the money. But we’ll manage dif- 
ferently; we’ll get rid of him, and go to Europe on the 
money — you and I. 

Harry (starting) — Why! But, Helen, I don’t un- 
derstand ! How can 

Helen (interrupting) — Don’t bother your little 
head, dearie. I’m really going to get rid of Mr. Lufton 
and have the money besides; I’ve thought it all out. 
Florence will help us. ( She begins to hum a favorite 
opera air.) Tra-la-la-la! 

Scene III — Drawing-room in Helen's house, hand- 
somely furnished; door opening into hall ; at back of 
stage, a window; drawing-room opens into a library 
near door of which in sight of audience is a telephone. 


“ THE SECRET ” 33 i 

Helen and Harry Mortimer seated, both handsomely 
dressed, the latter as Helen’s husband. As curtain 
rises, Helen springs up and goes to window. 

Helen — Here comes the hack from the station — old 
ramshackle ! He’s in it, beyond a doubt. 

Harry (laughing and joining her) — A day behind 
the fair ! (After standing there a moment, both come 
slowly back to the front, Harry smiling broadly, Helen 
pulling at her handkerchief.) It won’t take long to set- 
tle him, Helen. 

Helen — (slowly) — No-o. I wonder what kind of 
looking fellow he is ? He must be as I said, a regular 
bumpkin. He’s lived in the country all his life — ex- 
cept when he was away at school and college. 

Harry (laughing) — That counts out considerable. 
But the last of that was ten years ago, wasn’t it? 

Helen — I believe so. Time enough since to get 
rusty. 

Harry — Yes, quite red with it. But what do you 
care, Helen? 

Helen — Nothing, of course. But you should make 
allowances for a woman’s curiosity. (She looks at 
Harry and smiles.) 

Harry — How can I, when I know nothing about it? 
(She laughs merrily.) You were just in time, Helen. 
You thought he might decide not to turn up at all. 

Helen — I know. But here he comes dawdling in 
that old hack — just like him, all out of date! 

Harry — Why didn’t you write him the truth, 
Helen? (She laughs.) I mean, what we’ve resolved 
to be the truth. 


332 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

Helen — Oh, Em worth half a day’s journey — no 
longer than from Uncle Ben’s old home here. If he 
couldn’t make up his mind before, he can do it decid- 
edly now. 

Harry (laughing) — Why! You’ve done it for him. 

Helen (putting out her hand in denial) — Oh, no, 
no, no, not a bit of it, Harry. I’m too good a financier 
for that. 

Harry — Financier, indeed ! ( She laughs.) 

Helen (turning hack to the window) — The hack 
must have come to the door by this time. ( Suddenly, 
she gives a little shriek and grasps Harry, between 
laughter and dismay.) It’s not Mr. Lufton at all! 
Oh, what shall I do? I completely forgot her! It’s 
the companion and chaperon! I’ve never seen her 
before; but Nellie Winckley told me about her, and 
I engaged her for three months on Nellie’s recom- 
mendation. She’s not lively, Nellie says, but she’s 
eminently respectable. You see, I had to have some- 
body in the house when I was alone — before I mar- 
ried. Now she will be frightfully in the way. 

Harry (excitedly, putting her hand on the other’s 
arm) — Goodness! I should say so! What will you 
do with her here when Mr. Lufton comes — to say 
nothing of our having her around? How much like 
being married it will look to have a chaperon! Ha! 
ha ! ha ! It’s too bad ; but I can’t help laughing. But 
you’re in a tight place, Helen. 

Helen (coolly) — Oh, no. I’ll settle her in two min- 
utes. Here she comes; the man is taking off her 


“ THE SECRET” 


333 

trunks. Harry, don’t let him go! Run! Tell him 
to wait for a passenger. Quick, dearie! (Exit 
Harry.) 

(Enter Mrs. Salters , fussily attired , very important. 
Helen bows and is about to speak.) 

Mrs. Salters (mincingly) — Miss Comers, I pre- 
sume. I was to have come yesterday. But circum- 
stances prevented. In fact, I was very ill. 

Helen (compassionately) — So sorry, Mrs. Salters. 
So good of you to come to-day. I hope you’ve not 
over-exerted yourself. (She comes forward , takes her 
hand and relieves her of her wraps and packages.) 

I ought to have telephoned you. But the fact was that 
in the excitement of home coming — and other things — 
I forgot it. 

Mrs. Salters (with confidence) — Oh, it didn’t 
matter. I found the way readily enough; I’m a fine 
traveler, which may be of great importance to you. 
But just at present I’m a little fatigued. I’ll go to my 
room to rest. 

Helen ( with embarrassment and drawing forward 
an easy-chair.) i lease be seated here a moment first, 
Mrs. Sal/ers. I 

Mrs. Salters (drawing back indignantly and pre- 
paring to leave the room.) — I am here as your chap- 
eron, Miss Comers, not to take orders from you. It is 
better that we understand one another at once. When I 
say I will go to my room immediately, I do so. (She 
draws herself up and looks belligerent.) 

Helen (distressed) — But, Mrs. Salters 


334 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

Mrs. Salters (interrupting) — We will postpone 
conversation, Miss Comers, until 

Helen (aside, desperately) — How shall I stop her? 
(Aloud.) I am not Miss Comers. (As Mrs. Salters 
stands staring at her in amazement, she goes on in 
haste.) Something has happened here, Mrs. Salters, 
so astonishing and — and — and unexpected that it has 
changed everything. I’m so very sorry to have given 
you all this trouble. If I’d only known a little earlier. 
But — (She stops, embarrassed.) 

Mrs. Salters (sharply) — But if you are not Miss 
Comers, what have you to do with me, anyway? I 
deal only with principals. Call Miss Comers, if you 
please. 

Helen (aside) — Oh, dear, I’m afraid the hackman 
won’t wait all day for this tedious woman! (Aloud.) 
I used to be Miss Comers. Now I’m Mrs. Mortimer. 
I , 

Mrs. Salters (walking up to her and staring 
angrily into her face) — What jargon are you talking? 
I wish to see immediately the lady who engaged me. 
Call 

Helen (interrupting) — It’s very simple. I have un- 
expectedly married. 

Mrs. Salters (bristling) — Married, did you say? 
Married — unexpectedly! Very — peculiar! Pray, did 
you meet the man one day and marry him the next — < 
the style of — some people? 

Helen (smiling) — Well, it was a little in that style, 
I confess — quite as unlooked for. But it’s done. And 


“THE SECRET ” 


335 


so, Mrs. Salters, as a married woman, you see, I do 
not require a chaperon. I have one. And I apologize 
for having given you all this trouble. I — ( She moves 
toward her desk.) 

Mrs. Salters (sniffing indignantly) — So, that’s all 
you have to say about it! But I think you’ll find I 
have something. Tricky! Very tricky! 

Helen ( with dignity) — Yes, all I have to say about 
it — but not all I have to do. Wait a moment, if you 
please. (Mrs. Salters has thrown herself into a chair 
with no other apparent intention than that of waiting 
indefinitely. She sits scowling and muttering. Helen 
seats herself at her desk , takes out her check hook and 
writes rapidly for a moment. Then she rises and ap- 
proaches Mrs. Salters.) Here is the check, Mrs. Sal- 
ters, for the three months’ service for which I engaged 
you, and I have added your fares to repay you a little 
for the trouble you’ve taken. When I add my apolo- 
gies, I think we’ll be square. 

Mrs. Salters ( taking the check and examining it 
carefully) — Um! I don’t know about that. Tricky! 
Tricky, I say! 

Helen ( with dignity) — And now as I’m expecting 
— a friend at any moment, I must ask you to return by 
the next train. The hack is waiting; my husband is at 
the door to put you in. Allow me to help you with 
your wraps. ( She sweeps up her bundles in haste and 
leads the way to the door where Harry meets her and 
relieves her of the packages.) Good by, Mrs. Salters ; 
a pleasant journey to you. As your price was liberal, 


336 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

you will be able to take a good vacation with it. I’m 

very sorry this happened so ; but you must 

Mrs. Salters (interrupting with an indignant sniff 
and tossing her head) — Tricks, I say, all tricks! 
You’re a tricky woman, Mrs. What-ever-your-name- 
Helen (alone) — That old ramshackle that is taking 
may-be! (Exit in a fury). 

her to the train will bring up Mr. Lufton by the next 
one, I’m sure. A close shave ! I wouldn’t have had her 
meet him — no, not for twice the money I paid her. 
(Enter Harry.) Well, she’s gone — and none too soon, 
and a good riddance. I never saw a madder woman. 

Harry (laughing) — Nor I. She shouted “ tricks ” 
to the last. Our next visitor will be at least more po- 
lite. (Both stand at the window watching the hack 
drive away.) 

Helen — Don’t be too sure. If he’s a good deal of 
a bumpkin, he may get as mad as poor Mrs. Salters 
— who knows? 

Harry — But, anyway, you’ve done for him — and 
with him. 

Helen (sternly) — Not at all, Harry. You’ll find 
out how I will pay him for having kept me these three 
months on the tenter-hooks — and then coming at last. 
He might have decided one thing or the other before 

now. He (She starts.) Two men walking in at 

the gate! Now they’re passing the hack — but, no. 
Good heavens ! they’re not passing it ! It has stopped. 
They’ve gone up to it. One of them is shaking hands 
with her, he must be an acquaintance. She’s talking as 


“ THE SECRET ” 


337 


fast as she can move her lips. They are both listening; 
they seem interested. Is she telling them about us? 
At any rate, she can’t tell our secret; she doesn’t know 
it. 

Harry (peering over her shoulder) — Can that be 
Mr. Lufton? Which is the country bumpkin, Helen? 

Helen (perturbed) — I don’t know. They both 
walk well. But I don’t understand why there are two. 

Scene IV. — (Roger Lufton and Richard Cramner 
standing beside the front steps of Helen's house.) 

Lufton — She was so mad, Dick, she couldn’t speak. 
It’s rather a way of hers though, I suspect. 

Cramner — Yes, mad; and in haste to make her 
train. 

Lufton — All I could make out clearly was, 
“Tricks! tricks! tricks!” Does she mean do you 
suppose, that the lady in this house is up to tricks? 

Cramner — I t looks like that, Lufton. 

Lufton — It’s a warning. I’ll investigate. I’m not 
so hot after Uncle Ben’s money that I’ll put my head 
into a noose for it. I’ll see this Miss Comers who is 
called so charming. But it’s a thousand chances that I 
don’t fall in love with her. If I don’t, it will be a little 
awkward that I came here at all, to be sure. I came, 
I saw, and was not conquered will be a small embar- 
rassment to confess in deeds. But I must stand the 
music. Perhaps it was as well we left Atwood working 
over the car and walked this half mile. We met Mrs. 
Salters. She’s an odd stick, to be sure, and may have 


338 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

got things twisted. Still, as I said, a word of warning 
won’t be amiss. (He moves nearer the steps , then turns 
and hesitates.) Will you come in with me, Cramner? 

Cramner (shaking his head and smiling) — Not un- 
less you particularly desire it. That’s a canoe you’d 
better paddle yourself, Lufton. 

Lufton (relieved) — Thank you. I think so, too. 
I know you’ve a charming book, and it’s a delightful 
day. Wait for me on the bench out there under the 
great tree. I shan’t be long, I’m sure. I feel I’m not 
going to like her. “ Tricks ! tricks ! ” I seem to hear. 
Well, wish me good luck. (He begins to go up the 
steps and Cramner turns away toward the tree.) 

Scene V. — Helen’s drawing-room again. Helen 
and Harry stand expectant. A bell rings.) 

Helen — There he is — probably come to offer me 
marriage — at last ! 

Harry — Too late! 

Helen — But listen, Harry. We must play our 
parts. I shall not lose my share of Uncle Ben’s money 
by refusing him 

Harry (in amazement) — Helen! 

Helen (with great decision) — Certainly not. He 
may have me at his peril — if he’ll have me in this way. 

Harry (laughing) — Of course, he won’t. He sim- 
ply can’t. You’re a clever girl, Helen. 

Helen (anxiously) — I expect you to stand by me 
nobly, Harry. 

Harry ( throwing an arm about her caressingly ) — 


“ THE SECRET " 339 

That I will, dearie. You know, I’ve told you there’s 
only one thing I am really afraid of — I 

Helen (interrupting sharply)- — Don’t be so absurd. 
We’ve no time now for nonsense. He’s here. (Bell 
rings again.) Where’s Mary? Why doesn’t she an- 
swer the door? But about this thing, Harry. Don’t 
be afraid it will happen. It never will; it can’t. I’m 
so sure it can’t, that if it should, I’ll forgive you. 

Harry (relieved) — That’s a dear! But I’m sure, 
too, it will never happen; let’s forget it. But to get 
clear of Mr. Lufton and get your fortune, too, Helen ! 
You’re a genius 1 I don’t see through it; you’re too 
clever for me. Really, how are you going to do it? 

Helen (listening) — Mary has opened the door at 
last! You see, Harry, I have to do something when I 
shall lose half of Uncle Ben’s big pile if I refuse him 
— supposing he asks me, and probably that’s what he 
has come for. 

Harry (interrupting) — Marry him! Ha! ha! ha! 

Helen ( continuing ) — I’ll never do that. 

Harry — I should say not — considering * 

Helen (interrupting sharply) — I mean, I’ll never 
lose all that money. 

Harry (wonderingly) — But how can you help it, 
really? 

Helen — I’ll accept him. 

Harry (in consternation) — What, Helen! You 
can’t do that, I say. What! Accept him, when you 
are — when you’ve done all this just to escape him ! And 
now you have 


340 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

Helen (again interrupting) — Let me finish. I’ll 
accept him — provided he will have me as things are. 
Isn’t that a wise provision? And it’s he who must an- 
swer it. 

Harry (laughing) — Very! Just like you! But, 
still, now you are 

Helen (putting her hand over Harry’s mouth ) — 
Hush ! ( Enter maid with a card which she holds out 
to Helen who takes it and glances at it. To maid ) — 
Show him in, Mary. (Exit Mary.) Our news, Harry, 
is to come as an explosion, and blow Mr. Luf ton’s 
schemes sky high — if only that Salters woman hasn’t 
betrayed us beforehand ! But, careful ! Don’t fire too 
soon. Let the enemy get well in range. I hear him. 
Will you stay now, or go out a few minutes — to return 
with greater effect? 

Harry — Oh, the effect, by all means. And there’ll 
be one — a stunner! (Helen smiles and nods. Harry 
moves away, looking hack and throwing kisses at her, 
which she returns. Exit Harry by the library door. 
Enter Luf ton from the hall.) 

Lufton (coming forward and bowing, then stand- 
ing staring at Helen. She also stares at him, and the 
two stand thus for a full minute.) (Aside.) Three 
months wasted ! What a woman ! What a face 
and figure! What an air of distinction! What a 
smile! To have hesitated as to her — what a mistake! 
I wish she were mine this instant. Will she refuse 
me? She doesn’t look like one to be tempted by money 
— nor do I want that. Yet if that have no weight, what 
have I to offer one like her? But faint heart I will not 


“ THE SECRET 


have, for win fair lady I must. But who was that who 
quitted her as I came in? He went off like a lover — 
an accepted one. Yet in spite of all, win I must, now 
that I have seen her. (Aloud.) Good morning, Miss 
Comers. ( She makes a movement as if to correct him, 
then restrains herself; he looks at her in surprise.) 
This is Miss Comers? 

Helen (aside ) — What an amazement! Where is 
the country bumpkin? This man might have been 
brought up at court. I was foolishly hasty in my judg- 
ment as to him. Perhaps I’ve been a little hasty in 
everything. But it’s too late to think of that now. 
Poor Harry! Such a dear fellow! I love — him — so 
much! He must never suspect I could possibly have 
changed my mind about Mr. Lufton — I mean, about 
his appearance, of course — not otherwise. But what 
eyes he has ! How he looks at me as if he thought me 
perfect! It’s such a trial to a woman to have a man 
think her perfect; it makes her want to accept his 
judgment in other things — even when his judgment is 
to have her accept him! What nonsense! I’m only 
speaking on general principles. I must pull myself to- 
gether. (She assumes a distant air) . (Aloud.) Yes, 
Mr. Lufton, I am the woman whom you were to in- 
terview. I’ve no doubt you will be able to make up 
your mind readily enough as to our little matter of 
business. 

Lufton (interrupting hastily) — Business, Miss 
Comers ? Why 

Helen (interrupting sternly ) — Pure business, Mr. 
Lufton. 


342 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

Lufton (with great decision) — Yes, indeed, Miss 
Comers. It is already made up. 

Helen — Indeed! Then why should I delay you 
longer, Mr. Lufton? 

Lufton (starting forward and gazing at her still 
more earnestly) — But — but it is not made up to go, 
Miss Comers. I cannot go. You hold me so that I do 
not wish to move 

Helen (laughing lightly) — Oh, dear me! What a 
condition ! 

Lufton (with decision) — Pardon me. I have not 
finished. I was about to add — unless you move with 
me. 

Helen (draws herself up and half turns away ) — 
Sir! (Then turning her face hack over her shoulder , 
she smiles at him.) 

Lufton (coming close to her impetuously ) — 
(Aside) — She is offended at my delay. (Aloud.) This 
is no time for ceremony. It’s true we’ve not met be- 
fore — most unhappily for me! But we have known 
about each other for years, you as Mrs. Luf ton’s fa- 
vorite niece and I as Uncle Ben’s only nephew. Yet 
I’ve known little of you, I confess; else not business, 
nor a feeling of respect for my uncle forbidding to seek 
my happiness in the moment of losing him, nor — I 
own it — a natural reluctance to acknowledge so seri- 
ous a decision made for me — not all these objections 
would have held me from you for an hour. I had in- 
deed heard much of you; but I had never dreamed of 
you as you are — Helen ! 

Helen ( trying to smile, and playing with her hand - 


THE SECRET ” 


343 

kerchief) — Nor I you, Mr. Lufton — else — ( She 
stops.) 

Lufton (zvatching her eagerly) — What were you 
about to say? 

Helen (zvith determination) — Oh, nothing — noth- 
ing at all — ( She looks dozjvn.) — what I must never 
say. This is a business interview. Let us end it as 
soon as possible. Will you be seated, Mr. Lufton? 

Lufton ( still standing near her and looking into her 
face) — What is it you must never say? Do say it. 
And why must we end this interview soon? End it! 
I never want it to end — except with the beginning of 
something better. 

Helen ( smiling sadly ) — That will never be ! 

Lufton (observing her still more attentively ) — 
Why not? I am here to offer you my hand with my 
heart in it. I came, as you know, in compliance with 
our uncle’s will — kind uncle to me he was ! I stay be- 
cause my choice so falls in with his that, were you 
other than Helen Comers, I would throw his wealth 
aside, and still ask you to be my wife. 

Helen (aside) — How he wooes! What woman 
could resist him, except for — Oh, my secret which a 
moment ago I loved so well, which now I am learning 
to hate — oh, no, no, not that! But he makes me lose 
my head with his admiration and his impetuosity. But 
what a wrong I’m doing to allow him to go on. I 
must speak. What if Harry is listening to him? He’ll 
be sure not to be far away. Yes, I must speak im- 
mediately. But who could have dreamed he would 
prove so — so interested — and so interesting? (Aloud.) 


344 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

That will never be, Mr. Lufton. (As she is speaking, 
she moves a little distance away and looks at him 
gravely. 

Lufton (drawing nearer again) — Give me time, 
Helen, to prove my love for you, and to win you so. 
I 

Helen (interrupting) — No, no, Mr. Lufton, I must 
not allow this. There is ( She comes to a halt.) 

Lufton (regretfully) — Oh, my wasted months! 
Had I only come at once! 

Helen (impetuously) — If only you had! (Draws 
away from him decidedly.) No, no — I don't mean 
that. I 

Lufton (looking at her keenly) — I can’t understand 
you. Explain to me. 

Helen — Yes, I will explain. ( She pauses and looks 
at him piteously.) You see 

Lufton ( impetuously ) — I see nothing but your dis- 
tress. Why tell me anything? There’s nothing I care 
to know, only that you will accept me and in time learn 
to care for me. 

Helen — It’s not that. But 

Lufton (ardently) — You mean you can come to 
care for me? You mean you can love 

Helen (interrupting in distress) — Mr. Lufton! I 
beseech you — stop ! (For a moment she hides her eyes 
in her handkerchief , then she faces him.) You are so 
generous, so confiding, I must tell you all — (Aside.) 
No, not all! (Aloud.) When you know, you will 
despise me ; you’ll not find it difficult to say “ no ” to 
me. You 


“THE SECRET 


Lufton (amazed and beaming) — I say “no” to 
you! Impossible! Absolutely impossible. It’s you 
who, I fear, will say it to me. 

Helen (half smiling) — But that’s what I’m not go- 
ing to do; because — because I’m so mercenary that I 
won’t refuse you — for the sake of the money only — 
you understand that f I’m going to leave the refusing 
to you. (She hesitates, then adds:) And you’ll do it. 
Now, don’t you despise me? 

Lufton (aside) — What is she after? There’s 
something here I don’t understand. (Aloud.) Despise 
you — you ! And refuse you — you — NEVER! 

Helen — Oh, yes, you will — when you know. And 
then you’ll despise me because I don’t refuse you; be- 
cause I leave you the option 

Lufton (interrupting joyously) — Leave me the op- 
tion! You will allow me to say whether I’ll refuse you, 
or not? Why, Helen, that's tantamount to acceptance 
of the very strongest kind — yes — acceptance. The 
matter is settled. The only thing left for me is to re- 
ceive congratulations. (He approaches her ardently. 
She retreats so decidedly that he stops, and stands look- 
ing at her.) 

Helen (shaking her head, and retreating still far- 
ther from him ) — Hardly! — When you know what the 
impediment is that you will never be able to pass by. 

Lufton (scornfully) — Impedimenta! Useless bag- 
gage ! We’ll not try to pass it — we’ll throw it away ! 
(Again he takes a few steps toward her.) 

(Enter Harry Mortimer.) 


346 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

Harry — Rather too large to throw away, Mr. Luf- 
ton ! (He smiles at Helen and then stands facing Luf- 
ton somewhat truculently. Tableau — the three look- 
ing, first at one and then at another of the angles in- 
which, to each, the other two are standing. Then 
Harry places himself beside Helen and. still facing Luf- 
ton, begins to laugh.) 

Helen — Mr. Mortimer, Mr. Lufton. (The tzvo 
bozo to each other, Lufton distantly and with a troubled 
face, Harry beaming with smiles.) 

Lufton (to Helen and turning away from Harry) 
— Your betrothed, may I ask, Miss Comers? 

Harry (tiptoeing up and dozvn in glee) — Ha! ha! 
ha! Guess again, Mr. Lufton! 

Helen (pale and stern) — My husband, Mr. Lufton. 

Lufton (staggering back) — What! Married? 

Married! 

Harry (laughing) — Why, what do you suppose she 
was doing all the time she was waiting for you to come 
forward — three whole months? 

Helen (severely and in distress) — Harry ! How can 
you! 

Harry — Well, it’s true. But I didn't mean to say 
it. We’ve been in love with one another ever since our 
school days — haven’t we, Helen? 

Helen (in a muffled tone) — Yes. 

Harry (still triumphantly) — I’m sorry for you, Mr. 
Lufton. But, you see, you are a day behind the fair. 
I told Helen she ought not to give you the trouble of 
coming here. She ought to have written you the truth. 

Lufton (aside) — The truth! The truth? 


“ THE SECRET ” 


347 

Harry — But she said you had taken so much time 
to make up your mind, it was a pity you shouldn’t have 
a chance to air your decision. 

Helen (angrily) — Oh, Harry! 

Lufton (aside) — Piqued! (Aloud.) I thank her. 
(Aside.) Something queer here. 

Harry (suavely) — And now, Mr. Lufton, nothing 
remains for you but to go home again, since Mrs. Mor- 
timer (He smiles at Helen) is scarcely prepared to 
marry you. 

Lufton (drawing himself up) — You’re mistaken, 
Mr. Mortimer. My option remains. And, be assured, 
I shall use it. 

Harry (bewildered) — Your option? I don’t under- 
stand. 

Lufton (to Harry) — Mrs. Mortimer informed me 
before your entrance that there was an impediment to 
— to her marrying me. I did not then know what it 
was. I had not anticipated a husband. But she in- 
formed me that as — she explained it for the reason 
that she did not want to lose her share of the fortune, 
(He turns and smiles at Helen.) — she did not wish to 
give the refusal herself; but would allow me the option 
of refusing her after I had learned what the impedi- 
ment was. (He looks Harry over carefully.) . So, you 
are the impediment? 

Harry (bristling) — I’m sure, Mr. Lufton, that my 
wife gave you no occasion to insult me. 

Helen ( coming forward ) — He has not insulted you, 
Harry. I did give him the option — to save niy fortune, 
as I told him. He must, of course, refuse me; and he 


348 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

can’t help despising me for — for my conduct to him. 
I have arranged it; and it must stand so. 

Harry (angrily) — Nonsense, Helen! There can’t 
be any option about it — that’s ridiculous! Of course, 
he can’t marry you when you’re married already — un- 
less you divorce me. And you can’t. 

Helen — I’ve no such idea, Harry. 

Lufton (coldly) — I would not marry a divorced 
woman; my ideas are so old-fashioned — or perhaps 
they are those of the future. 

Harry ( with satisfaction) — That’s right. Now, let 
us end it, and say good by. 

Lufton (looking at him keenly) — I hold to my op- 
tion, Mr. Mortimer. (To Helen) For how long will 
you give it to me — indefinitely, is it not? 

Helen (anxiously) — Certainly not. For three days, 
at most. 

Harry (impatiently) — Helen, that’s too much! I’ll 
not stand it. 

Lufton (smiling) — Go and sit down, then. 

Helen (with decision) — I’ve said it, Harry; and it 
shall stand so. 

Lufton (after watching her a moment while Harry 
makes a movement of anger and disgust, and she stands 
grave, with head bent.) Thank you, Mrs. Mortimer. 
I take your offer. 

Helen (startled) — My offer? 

Lufton — Yes; your offer of three days’ option. 
At the end of that time, perhaps sooner. I will 
either withdraw; or (he looks at her keenly ) — 
turn bigamist! 


“THE SECRET” 


349 

Harry— Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! (He laughs im- 
moderately.) Was there ever such a man! He’s 
mighty bold about the bigamy. Most people hide that 
sort of thing. 

Lufton ( eying him sharply) — I’m not given to hid- 
ing, Mr. Mortimer. Are you? 

Harry (starting) — No — sir! No, Mr. Lufton, not 
at all. But I can’t see what you’re after? 

Lufton (smiling) — I’m after saying good morning. 
(He bonus to Helen and to Harry, and goes tozvard the 
door.) 

Harry (detaining him) — Your friend is a delight- 
ful man, Mr. Lufton. Why did you leave him out- 
side? 

Lufton (looking keenly at Harry) — Very delight- 
ful, Mr. Mortimer. And very handsome, too. And a 
fine fellow. 

Harry — So I thought; although, to be sure, I saw 
him for only a few moments. 

Lufton ( still looking at Harry and smiling) — I’ll 
tell my friend what kind things you say about him, and 
how much you desire to make his acquaintance. 

Harry (starting) — Oh, no! (Correcting himself) 
I mean, yes, indeed, Mr. Lufton; pray do. I’m sure he 
can stand so much without vanity. 

Lufton (still watching Harry and smiling) — Next 
time he shall come with me, Mr. Mortimer. (Aside.) 
He shall tackle this fellow and leave me a chance with 
Helen. (To both.) And now good morning. 

Helen — One moment, please, Mr. Lufton. (She 
rises and seating herself at her desk, writes rapidly; 


350 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

then rises and approaches Lnfton, holding out a paper.) 
— If you are going to look up evidence, you might like 
these points, as your time is short. This will tell you 
where and when and by whom we were married. And 
if within the three days you should have any reason 
for — for wanting to see either or both of us about any- 
thing, I hope you will not hesitate to call upon us. 
You should be satisfied. 

Lufton (taking the paper and bowing low, still 
smiling) — Thank you so much Mrs. Mortimer. (To 
Harry.) And I’ll not forget to tell Cramner your opin- 
ion of him. 

Harry (for an instant dropping his eyes in con- 
fusion, then raising them and staring full at Lufton 
while he returns his bow) — Oh, pray do. I mean every 
word of it. ( Exit Lufton.) 

Scene VI. — Under the tree in Helens grounds . 
Lufton approaches Cramner who rises to meet him. 

Cramner — There’s the car at the gate. Shall we 
go? 

Lufton (impressively) — Cramner, there’s some- 
thing in it. 

Cramner — Something in Madam Salter’s “tricks ”? 

Lufton — Yes; and I shall have to take the tricks. 

Cramner — What are you driving at, Lufton? 

Lufton — I’m trying to follow their driving. 

Cramner — Then you think they are tricky — or 
rather that she is. The little fellow who came out and 
talked to me seemed to be straight enough. 

Lufton — Her husband, Harry Mortimer. 


“ THE SECRET ” 


35i 


Cramner (amazed) — Her husband! I thought it 
must be her brother ! And so you think she is 
tricky? 

Lufton ( with decision ) — I didn’t say that. I said 
there was a trick somewhere — call it a test, if you like. 
I’m by no means to sail on smooth waters to victory 
- — if I ever get there at all. 

Cramner (smiling) — Then you’ve decided you’d 
like to marry Mrs. Mortimer? 

Lufton (with great energy) — Your only excuse 
for such a question is that you’ve not seen her! I 
tell you, I’ll marry her if it’s in human possibility. 
She’s daring me to it. I don’t like to be dared in 
vain. And I may as well confess I’m dead in love 
with her. 

Cramner (laughing) — So soon? 

Lufton (quoting) — Who ever loved that loved 
not at first sight? 

Cramner — Wonderful! (After a pause.) Yet if 
the little fellow who came out and talked to me had 
been a woman, I might have understood you better. 
He had charming ways and a beautiful voice, I sup- 
pose I should say tenor; in a woman, I should call 
it contralto. 

Lufton — Just think of me now, Cramner; there’s 
a good fellow. ( Suddenly , he looks at him mean- 
ingly.) And perhaps you’ll help yourself, too. 

Cramner (frowning) — What do you mean, Luf- 
ton? 

Lufton (smiling)— Oh, Mortimer may have a sis- 
ter, who knows? 


35 2 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

Cramner (annoyed) — Pshaw! She wouldn’t be 
like him. 

Lufton (still smiling ) — No telling! I was only 
trying to comfort you. I need comfort myself. What 
would you suggest? 

Cramner — But if she’s actually married, what’s 
the use of suggesting anything? Do she and her hus- 
band, the bright little fellow, seem tired of one an- 
other? 

Lufton (with animation) — Tired! You should 
have seen them throwing kisses at one another when 
he went off as I was coming in. 

Cramner (moodily) — Ah, indeed! 

Lufton — She’s given me points to investigate; 
and I’m going to do it. I can’t make out that busi- 
ness at all, Cramner. But I’ll eat, drink and sleep on 
investigations — no, not sleep — act on them. Three 
days — no time at all. But we’ll see what a motor car 
and two men’s wits will do. Come. And on the 
way, I’ll tell you all I know myself. (They walk to - 
ward the gate.) 


ACT II 

Scene I. — The opening of this scene, three days 
later, finds Helen alone, making secret moan over her 
act which she has now come to consider even wicked, 
and destructive of her future happiness; for she dis- 
covers that she is deeply in love with Lufton. She 
longs to have him discover her secret, but is sure it is 


“ THE SECRET ” 353 

too well hidden for him to do it. She resolves that 
Harry shall never find out her repentance, and that 
she will treat her so-called husband with the affection 
such devotion deserves. In the midst of her remorse 
Harry comes to her, and taxes her with her strange 
lovesick behavior. Harry is secretly as repentant as 
Helen, but self-controlled. She is sure that they have 
both been fools, and she also feels that they have 
done wrong. But she will not leave her friend in the 
lurch. She asks Helen if she is going to desert her, 
and secretly wishes that she would. But the other’s 
sense of honor will not permit this. Harry does not 
believe that Mr. Lufton will discover the truth, but 
she wishes he would, and dwells in her heart upon 
Mr. Cramner’s perfections. But she says to herself 
that she cannot repent, except in her soul, because she 
must stand by Helen. 

In the midst of their interview the expressman 
comes with a trunk which proves to be Harry’s, con- 
taining some of her feminine wardrobe, to have on 
hand in case of emergency, she tells Helen, and to 
be ready when this business with Mr. Lufton is settled 
and they go to Europe together and can assume their 
own characters again. She confesses to Helen that 
she does not like divided skirts. She laughs, but she 
feels that there will be no part of the world worth go- 
ing to with Mr. Cramner out of it; and Helen re- 
solves to be brave, at least until Mr. Lufton has gone — 1 
whom she would give her life to keep. Meanwhile 
Lufton and Cramner have been hard at work. Mat- 


354 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

ters are in this state on the evening of the third day 
when Lufton and Cramner have been invited to din- 
ner and the affair is to be settled. 

Scene II. — Drawing-room in Helen's house. Luf- 
ton, alone, in evening dress. He walks about the 
room, then discovering the telephone, goes to it; lays 
his hand on the receiver, then stands listening. 

Lufton (soliloquises ) — Nobody yet! I promised 
Tom the news. I haven’t any; but I’ll tell him that. 
( He takes down the receiver and sits facing the audi- 
ence, his back to the hall door into the drawing-room.) 
Hello! Arlington — 86. (Waits.) That you, Tom? 
(He sits listening.) Yes; I’ve been working like 
chain lightning — looked up marriage certificate and 
all details, and can’t find a flaw in them. But — what 
did you say? (Listens.) Oh, no — no, indeed! Not 
given up at all. (Listens.) Beaten? No, indeed! 
Not yet. I’ve three more hours at least. Here I am 
in her house waiting for her to appear. What? 
(Listens.) Wear well? More delightful every hour. 
I’m more and more in love with her. (As he is saying 
this, Helen appears at the door of the drawing-room 
from the hall facing the audience and behind Lufton. 
She pauses not to interrupt him; but is deeply embar- 
rassed. She draws backward to go away, then leans 1 
forward and listens.) Yes, I shall fight for her to 
the last gasp. The bigamy talk must be a blind — 
amusing if it were not so serious. I’d as soon think 
of an angel committing bigamy as Helen. It’s some 
kind of test of me, or some trick to get rid of me. 


“ THE SECRET ” 


355 

She’s awfully clever, and so all the more worth win- 
ning. What? (Listens.) Yes, yes, quite true. I 
am desperately in love with her. I say it in her 
house, and intend to say it in her presence. (Move- 
ment from Helen.) (He listens at telephone.) No, 
no, indeed! Nothing out about her — no indeed! A 
hoax of some kind. What? (Listens.) Yes, I do 
have an idea. I may be wrong; but I shall act upon 
it. If I win, you’ll hear. If I lose, nobody’ll hear 
much of me for some time to come. I’ll hide, like 
the wounded animals. 

Helen ( aside , clasping her hands, hiding her face 
in them and then lifting it again) — Oh, how blind, 
how wild I have been ! Why was I piqued by his de- 
lay? What did I care for it — then? But now! 
Heaven grant he win! But the secret is too deep. 
Oh, Harry! Harry! 

Lufton (at the telephone) — Yes, yes. As to Mor- 
timer — I’m going to kill him! Ha! ha! ha! (Lis- 
tens.) Ha! ha! ha! No, indeed! Not murder him, 
by any means — just put an end to him. What? 
(Listens.) Auto accident? Ho! ho! ho! No origin- 
ality in that! Then, I might victimize myself also! 
No, no; I’ve a better way. But it won’t do to air it 
here — especially quite yet! (Listens.) Is she all I 
say? Charming! Irresistible! And, if she were not 
married, I think I might make her care a little for 
me. I would — I mean, I will make her listen. 

Helen (her hand over her heart) — He must not 
know I’ve heard. I cannot meet him now. Oh, my 
folly! Oh, Harry! Harry! (She disappears . Mor- 


356 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

timer in evening dress approaches the drawing-room. 
Lafton hearing steps , pats up the receiver and comes 
forward.) 

Mortimer ( with a slight swagger and an air of 
great decision.) Good evening, Mr. Lufton. A 
thousand pardons for having kept you waiting. My 
machine broke down on the road — all motorists un- 
derstand that. 

Lufton — Don’t speak of it! (They shake hands.) 
I’ve taken the liberty to make use of your telephone 
just now. 

Mortimer — Delighted! What fine weather! (The 
two stand together in the centre of the stage, eying 
one another like foeman. Then Mortimer waves his 
hand toward a chair.) 

Mortimer — Pray be seated, Mr. Lufton. Mrs. 
Mortimer will be in directly. (The two seat them- 
selves, Lufton watchful and smiling, Harry smiling 
with forced animation. For an instant they look 
fixedly at each other. Then Harry springs up and, 
turns out one of the electric lights.) Directly in your 
eyes, Mr. Lufton. I fear it annoys you. 

Lufton (laughing) — No, indeed! : It enlightens 
me. (Aside.) He’s very nervous. 

Harry — Where’s Mr. Cramner? Isn’t he com- 
ing? 

Lufton — Yes, by the next train. Some business 
detained him. 

Harry — Ah, I see. (Aside.) I’d better tackle 
Mr. Lufton and be done with it before Helen comes. 
She’s so nervous and gets so excited. Things should 


“ THE SECRET ” 


357 

be out of the way before she comes in. Then we can 
manage the dinner. And after that — he goes! Joy 
may go with him; but I fear he leaves sorrow be- 
hind. Poor Helen! Yes, and poor Harry, when Mr. 
Cramner vanishes. (Aloud.) Busy investigating, 
Mr. Lufton? 

Lufton (courteously) — I’ve looked up the matters 
you and Mrs. Mortimer gave me points upon — • 
thanks for your courtesy. 

Harry (with more assurance) — And you found 
things as we told you? The marriage certificate all 
right? 

Lufton — So far as I can see — yes. I find nothing 
wrong. 

Harry (still more reassured , and smiling ) — . 
There’s nothing to find. But I’m glad to have a word 
with you before my wife comes down, which may be at 
any minute. She’s become quite wrought up about: 
the affair » 

Lufton ( significantly ) — Ah ! 

Harry (still smiling) — Womanlike, you know! 
So; it will be best to settle the business before she 
comes in; and then we can enjoy ourselves all to- 
gether. It’s not probable I can have a happy time 
with the idea that you even think of absconding with 
my wife. Ha! ha! ha! 

Lufton — I don’t think of it at all. I’m not of the 
absconding kind. What I do will be in daylight — or 
in the almost equally effective electric light. 

Harry — Ha! ha! ha! Very good! (nervously.) 
And what are you going to do? 


358 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

Lufton (watching him searchingly) — Take my 
option, of course, according to agreement. 

Harry (still more nervously) — And what will 
your option be? 

Lufton (coolly and still watching him) — Pardon 
me. That is for Helen to learn directly from my- 
self. 

Harry (growing yet more nervous and excited ) — 
As her husband, and so as bound to defend her from 
annoyance, Mr. Lufton, and — and insult 

Lufton (interrupting haughtily) — Hold there, 
sir ! I allow no man to say that I will insult the lady 
whom I devotedly love. 

Harry (rising hastily) — You've done so already, 
sir, by that word. I 

Lufton (interrupting him and looking at him 
fixedly — Have I? 

Harry (giving way to more anger) — You your- 
self confess that the marriage certificate is all right. 
And you’ve probably talked by telephone, or perhaps 
personally, with the minister who married us at the 
house of my wife’s friend, Mrs. Mathers? 

Lufton (smiling) — I have done so, Mr. Morti- 
mer. And although it seemed an odd freak to go so 
far away from home to be married — though I re- 
member that Helen has no parents — yet, communi- 
cation by telegraph and telephone, and even a hurried 
visit to Mrs. Mathers, showed me nothing there upon 
which to build my objections. They are not founded 
upon these things. (As he finishes he again stares at 
Harry.) 


“ THE SECRET ” 


359 

Harry (starting and looking at him with great 
anxiety, then assuming an air of bluff ) — They’re not 
founded upon anything, Mr. Lufton; they have no 
foundation — as you know. You have no valid ob- 
jections. I advise you to carry this matter no fur- 
ther. I assure you I shall resist to the utmost the con- 
trol that your will seems to have assumed over my 
wife’s usual clear judgment, and 

Lufton (delightedly ) — Ah, ha! That’s fine news! 
I’m more assured than ever ! 

Harry (anxiously) — Assured of what? 

Lufton — Assured that I’m right. (He smiles at 
'Harry whom he constantly watches.) 

Harry (terrified and assuming violent rage ) — • 
Sir! Cease your insults, or I shall turn you out of 
the house! 

Lufton (smiling broadly ) — Ah, indeed! Is that 
really so? 

Harry (really angry ) — Yes, it is so. 

(^Lufton without answering suddenly turns away 
from Harry and stares at the floor beside the fire-\ 
place. Harry waits for him to look back again, but he 
still turns away, the other at first believes in order to 
avoid him.) 

Harry (emphatically ) — I repeat, you will find it 
so; and very shortly, too, I assure you. (Lufton does 
not appear to hear him; he still gazes upon the floor. 
Then he rises and approaches the fireplace on tiptoe, 
motioning Harry to be silent, and bending down low, 
peers along the rugs zvith great interest. Harry 
watches him zvith increasing uneasiness, and, forget- 


360 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

ting his animosity, takes a step toward him. Lufton 
lifts a finger in warning as the other creeps a second 
step nearer.) (In a whisper.) What is it? (Tableau. 
They remain thus a little time, Harry growing visibly 
more nervous.) 

Lufton (in a whisper ) — Hush! (He still stoops 
and peers about him on the floor. Harry begins to 
peer about also, and grows more and more nervous as 
he does it.) 

Harry (in a whisper to Lufton)— What in the 
world is it? (Aside.) It can’t be that! (He shivers.) 

Lufton (in a subdued tone ) — There! I’m afraid 
you’ve frightened him away. 

Harry (starting violently, retreating suddenly and 
speaking hysterically ) — “Him”! Who? Oh! What 
do you mean? (He retreats still further with precipi- 
tation.) Him! What do you mean? 

Lufton (jauntily and smiling) — Oh, nothing to 
mind. (Further action on both sides, Lufton getting 
more mysterious and Harry growing almost wildly 
excited.) 

Harry — But I can’t see anything. Is it — (He 
starts back looking ready to fly.) Is it ? 

Lufton (seeming not to have heard him and still 
peering about on the floor, with every delay and every 
motion making Harry the more anxious and excited. 
At last with deliberation ) — I can’t find him. But how 
very odd in a fine house like this, to have a mouse 
running about on the floor. I 

Harry (shrieking in terror ) — A MOUSE! OH! 
OH! Where shall I go — quick! Quick! (He 


“ THE SECRET ” 


361 

shrieks again in an abandonment of terror, and 
springs upon a chair where he stands shivering and 
making a vain attempt to gather skirts about him.) 

Lufton ( still stooping, and pointing under Harry's 
chair) — Don’t come down quite yet, Mr. Mortimer. 
See the little fellow under your chair. Hold on ! Ha ! 
ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! (He lifts himself up and stands 
pointing at Harry and shouting with laughter.) What? 
What? You can’t defend Helen, even against a 
mouse!. Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! (He stands still 
pointing and laughing while Harry dances up and 
down on the chair in an agony of fright — then sud- 
denly stops at sight of Helen in the doorway. Tableau. 
She advances.) 

Helen (reproachfully) — Harry, how could you! 

Lufton ( approaching her, his face beaming with 
smiles ) — Don’t reproach him, I entreat. It was a 
case of couldn’t help it. You know that. (Signifi- 
cantly.) 

Helen (looking about her ) — But where is the 
mouse? 

Lufton (significantly ) — Ah! (Laughing.) For- 
give me! The mouse is nowhere. There was no 
mouse. But — (pointing at Harry and laughing .) — - 
the WOMAN is THERE! (He turns to Harry.) My 
dear young lady, come down from your perch in 
safety, and forgive me for bringing you out by a 
trick. You left me no alternative. It was my last 
chance to set myself right in Miss Comers’ eyes. If 
I had not found you out, she would have despised me. 
(To Helen.) Wouldn’t you now? 


362 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

Helen (hesitatingly) — I should not have thought 
so much of your acumen as I do now, Mr. Lufton. 

Lufton (smilingly, to Helen) — But you and big- 
amy were impossible to the point of absurdity! I saw 
there must be a trick. But you put me to my trumps 
to discover it. 

Harry ( descending, after having first looked care- 
fully around on the floor, and approaching Helen ) — 
I knew the moment I saw him this evening he was go- 
ing to oust me. I felt it in him. Now I shall not get 
that trip abroad that you promised me, Helen. That 
was the chief reason (she glances at Lufton) why I 
consented to your wild scheme. I dote on traveling. 

Helen (aside) — She forgets to say that she pro- 
posed it! (To Harry.) Oh, yes, indeed, Harry; you 
shall have the trip in some way, I promise you over 
again. (To Lufton.) And how did you find us out? 

Lufton (to Helen) — I must not tell you how I 
found out that your classmate, Miss Harriet Morti- 
mer, went by the name of “ Harry ” among her inti- 
mates. That was the entering wedge. 

Helen — Florence betrayed me! I should never 
have believed it of her! 

Harry (aside) — I don’t seem to be needed here. 
And how can I meet Mr. Cramner? Yet how can I 
miss him? I’ve an idea. (Exit.) 

Lufton (to Helen) — I assure you your friend had 
no thought of betraying you. It was not she who told 
me about “ Harry.” But she did let slip a little fact 
leading up to it. But I did not appear to her to notice 
this, and she never found out that she helped me. 


“THE SECRET 


363 


Helen — Then I must not blame her. 

Lufton — No — really. (He approaches and stands 
looking at her.) But now please tell me one thing. 
Why did you do all this? 

Helen (hesitating and not looking at him) — I was 
afraid of you. I was afraid I shouldn’t like you. I 
thought you must be a country bumpkin. I wanted 
Uncle Ben’s money, as I said, without you. I’ve been 
so mercenary, you must despise me. And I thought 
if I gave you the option and put things so that you’d 
have to refuse me, I should be safe. You see, I mar- 
ried before you had asked me to marry you. So, I 
was safe. 

Lufton (smiling) — There are two sides to that 
question. But we need not discuss them now. 

Helen (looking down and speaking in a low tone) 
— No! There’s nothing to discuss. You hold all the 
trumps. I’ve lost. 

Lufton (drawing still nearer) — What have you 
lost, Helen? 

Helen (covering her \ face with her hands ) — 
My own respect — and yours! (She begins to 
sob.) 

Lufton (tenderly) — Lost my respect? Do you 
care for it? (Bending over her with devotion.) Look 
at me, my Helen. You poor child! You were im- 
mensely clever. (Aside.) And immensely amusing! 
(Aloud.) You’ve no idea how I admire you. 

Helen (still sobbing) — But I’ve given up my 
privilege — my woman’s privilege; and I didn’t mean 
to; I thought you’d never guess the secret. 


364 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

Lufton (anxiously) — Your woman’s privilege of 
saying “ no,” you mean ? 

Helen (in a muffled tone) — Yes — or — of saying 
— “ yes ” ! 

Lufton (putting his arm around her and drawing 
her hands away from her face) — Is that what you’re 
going to say to me, Helen — “ yes ”? 

Helen (drawing hack slowly) — I can’t say any- 
thing. You have the option. 

Lufton (eagerly) — And do you think I’m a brute? 
That would be worse than a bumpkin, wouldn’t it? 

Helen (pidling at her handkerchief) — I — don’t 
know. I don’t know anything; I’m so confused. 

Lufton (with great tenderness) — Of course, I’ll 
give up my option. No man worthy of the name 
would want a woman to marry him, will she, mill she. 

Helen (looking down and hesitating very per- 
ceptibly) — But, Mr. Lufton, my word! That seems 
still to bind me. 

Lufton (his arm still about her, and watching her 
intently ) — I release you from your word. I plead for 
your will. I ask not what you promised, but what 
you want. 

Helen (turning away from him) — That is harder 
to say. 

Lufton (bending to look into her downcast face) 
— One question. Will you tell me? 

Helen (looking up at him) — Anything I can. 
You’re so good to me! 

Lufton (still watching her earnestly) — Are you 
sorry I found you out? 


“THE SECRET 


365 

Helen (eagerly ) — No — oh, no! I’m so glad! I 
hated the whole thing. I’d come to think it wicked. 

Lufton — When did you begin to hate it? As soon 
as you had done it? 

Helen — N-o. I thought it great fun at first, until 
I came to realize more what I had done. I hated it 
as soon as — (She stops speaking, and draws away 
from him.) 

Lufton (following her ) — As soon as — as what? 

Helen ( deeply embarrassed and twisting her hand- 
kerchief) — I promised to answer you. As soon, then, 
as — I saw you! (She whirls about and goes to the 
back of the stage where she stands assuming to look 
out of the window.) 

Lufton (following, puts his arm about her, and 
they walk forward ) — I throw the option back to you. 
You have your woman’s privilege in full. But, oh, be 
kind to me! Will you be my wife, Helen? 

Helen (distinctly ) — I will. 

Lufton (looking into her face ) — And for more 
than money? 

Helen — For love. I 

(Enter Cramner in evening dress. He bows and 
approaches Helen.) 

Lufton — My stanch friend, Cramner, Miss 
Comers. (They shake hands. Cramner throws a look 
of congratulation at Lufton. They seat themselves , 
Lufton beside Helen, Cramner at a little distance. He 
takes up a postal album while Lufton talks in an un- 
dertone to Helen. Cramner is facing the door from 
the hall. Harry in a handsome and very becoming 


366 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

evening gown comes to the door, and seeing Cramner 
halts on the threshold. She is dismayed, yet cannot 
flee. At last he glances up. The hook falls to the 
floor, and he springs up and stands gazing as if at a 
vision. Her eyes are on the ground.) 

Lufton (rising and approaching Harry) — I told 
you, Cramner, you might see Mr. Mortimer’s sister. 

Cramner (aside) — And still more fascinating! 

Helen (rising and going forward to Harry) — Mr. 
Cramner, Harry. (To Cramner) — My friend, Miss 
Mortimer, Mr. Cramner. 

Cramner (bowing, then going to her and taking 
her hand) — Mr. Mortimer’s sister! 

Harry (shyly) — Yes, his sister, Mr. Cramner. 
(Roguishly.) And you’ll never see Mr. Mortimer 
again, Mr. Cramner. I can’t — explain now. Perhaps 
Mr. Lufton will explain it to you — some day. 

Cramner ( ecstatically, and exchanging a glance of 
comprehension with Lufton) — Yes, let us leave ex- 
planations to the some day, in the delight of the now. 
I longed for you when I saw your brother. 

Harry (saucily) — Don’t you think he was the bet- 
ter of the two? 

Cramner (softly) — How could I! 

Harry (to Lufton) — How did you divine my 
single weakness — my only one, Helen will tell you. 
(She laughs.) Do tell me how you hit upon it? 

Lufton (smiling) — No personal divination, I as- 
sure you, Miss Mortimer. I acted upon general prin- 
ciples. 


“ THE SECRET ” 367 

Harry (to Helen) — A real wedding next time, my 
dear. 

Lufton (eagerly ) — And very soon! 

Helen (softly ) — Yes — some day. 

Cramner (aside ) — Yes — two weddings! 

Helen and Lufton in centre; Harry and Cramner on 
their right. 


XXXVII 


MR. HARRIS AGAIN 

“This is like old times/’ said Ned to Dorothy as 
the two stood together receiving the congratulations of 
an enthusiastic audience. 

“ Yes,” she answered softly, smiling at him. 

“ I’m going to wire mamma of our success,” he said. 
“ ’Twill do her good. How kind in you, Dorothy, to 
ask Harris. I know just why you did it, you clever 
girl!” 

“ Of course, you do — to try to get on in the world,” 
she retorted saucily, her eyes bright with triumph. 
“ But he and Mrs. Harris want to speak to Grace. 
Come.” 

He followed her to where his sister was seated be- 
side Mrs. Bridges, who was the first to greet the for- 
mer Miss Leslie. 

“Ah, ha, Mrs. Harris,” she cried. “It’s really 
good to see you. So many things have happened 
since we have met. But I don’t forget Mount Rest. 
And Mr. Harris! Do you know, I was always just a 
little afraid of you,” she added, smiling up at him. I 
can’t tell why.” 

“ And I can’t tell,” he answered as he shook hands 
with her, his gravity pleasing Dorothy immensely. 

368 


MR. HARRIS AGAIN 


369 

“ But do you know,” went on Mrs. Bridges, her 
facetiousness expanding to attempted archness as she 
turned to Mrs. Harris, “that we had our suspicions 
of you and Mr. Harris that summer? I said to Flo, 
something was in the wind.” 

“And did she tell you that Mr. Windham was in 
the wind? ” retorted Ned giving his hearers an oppor- 
tunity to laugh. 

“You see what it is to be an author,” cried Mrs. 
Bridges. And she patted Longley’s arm approvingly. 

“What’s that?” inquired Bridges sauntering up. 
He had been behind the scenes, having a word with 
Norris. 

“ Sparkles of wit and wisdom,” returned his mother 
complacently. She was not only in the charmed circle ; 
she felt herself a part of it. “ Miss Longley, dear, don’t 
you want to go and have a talk with your brother, or 
Miss Brooke, while I chat with Mr. and Mrs. Harris? ” 

Dorothy admired the gravity of Mr. Harris’ lips 
when she caught the dance of his eyes as he seated 
himself beside his wife and leaned across her to listen 
to Mrs. Bridges ; for the “ chat ” was chiefly mono- 
logue. 

Later, he spoke to the two young writers with deep 
interest in their work, both in their stories, and the 
play. The path that they had to tread was long and 
thorny; but with both he believed it would lead to suc- 
cess. Dorothy gave him opportunity to talk with Ned 
by himself, an opportunity that he took. 

“ Won’t you and Longley come to a little supper 
with us, Miss Brooke?” asked Bridges coming up to 


370 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

them. “ Mr. and Mrs. Harris are to be with us ; Miss 
Pell and Miss Hyde, Brooke and Norris. I’ve been 
trying to find you two, and after all, here you were in 
the midst of things,” he added, glad of an excuse to 
look at Dorothy who in her happiness seemed to him 
more beautiful than ever. 

She accepted with pleasure, and glanced at her com- 
panion, who also accepted readily. “ Stop being dog 
in the manger,” his conscience had said to him sharply 
more than once of late. And he was trying to 
obey it. 

The supper given at a famous restaurant, left noth- 
ing to be desired as to excellence, and the company was 
in the mood to enjoy it. Mr. Harris again listened to 
Mrs. Bridges’s discourse with a courtesy under which 
Dorothy suspected lay much amusement. Mrs. Harris 
and Grace had many and interesting reminiscences of 
school life at Hosmer Hall; Pell-Mell and Rex and 
Bridges had a merry time together, and Norris was 
discovering that Kitty Hyde was a very bright girl, 
and, considering her opportunities, remarkably well 
mannered. The arrangement of the party seemed to 
leave Dorothy to Ned; yet Bridges was not too much 
occupied to notice that neither was talking much to 
the other; she had an eye upon Mr. Harris and 
thoughts for the interview that she still dreamed he 
would have with Ned sometime that evening, a busi- 
ness talk which would have results. 

But Longley’s mind was upon something that the 
elder Bridges had said to him a few days before, 
when the young man had gone to him with some ad- 


MR. HARRIS AGAIN 


37i 

vertisements just written, upon which the other was 
to pass judgment. 

Mr. Bridges had sat awhile studying them atten- 
tively, until his watcher had been afraid that they were 
not satisfactory. Then he looked up at him. 

“ It’s a mighty queer thing to me, Longley, ,, he said, 
“ that a feller like you, with Latin an’ Greek an’ all the 
’ologies’ — ain’t that what they call ’em? — at his 
fingers’ ends, an’ his head full of this theatre stuff, 
can buckle down to these sort of things, an’ do it so 
well. You go straight to the point in these — they’re 
practical. It’s a good lookout for you, young man. 
If you can’t begin at the bottom — if you don’t know 
how, I say — whether you have to do it or not — you’ll 
never git to the top. That’s my belief; an’ I’ve never 
seen reason to change it. If you know how to strike 
out an’ grab the common sense in, you’ll git listened to 
some day — no doubt about that.” 

“ You encourage me very much, Mr. Bridges,” Ned 
had answered; “and your judgment is worth having.” 

“ It is on some points,” returned Bridges smiling at 
him. 

“ I needn’t say I’m glad you like my advertisements. 
I worked hard over them.” 

“ Needn’t tell me that,” said the other. “ Don’t 
you s’pose I know the things that go as if they made 
themselves are the things a feller puts in the work on ? 
I hain’t been in business all these years without dis- 
coverin’ that.” Then, as Ned had been about to an- 
swer, Mr. Bridges had added abruptly : “ So Chester- 
down’s your lawyer. Your sister told me. I asked 


372 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

her. I didn’t make no comment to her; bless my soul, 
no ! But to you I’ll say, I’m mighty sorry for it.” 

“Why?” Ned had asked with an interest he had 
not tried to conceal. 

“ Because I’d like to have you an’ your family come 
out square; an’ you’d have to be sharper than any razor 
that ever was made to cut anything out of that feller’s 
hands.” 

“Do you think that of him?” asked his hearer 
anxiously. “ My father was considered a good busi- 
ness man ; and he chose him, Mr. Bridges.” But after 
he had spoken, he remembered his mother’s explana- 
tion as to this selection. 

“Your father made a mistake there,” returned 
Bridges with decision. 

“ Perhaps he did,” answered the son slowly. “ But 
it was his last.” 

“Yes, yes — of course, of course,” assented the elder 
man with a touch of regret. “ The wisest of us make 
no end of mistakes, an’ learn by ’em. If your father’d 
lived, ’twould have been different — no question of that. 
The point is here — Chesterdown won’t be likely to 
bring up any thing for you people out of that hole 
he’s buried it in. Not many people know him — yet. 
But them that do, steer clear.” 

“ I’m so sorry,” said the young man, “ especially for 
my mother.” And he thought of the mining stock 
also, which had dropped one more point the day be- 
fore. Then the talk with Bridges had passed to other 
matters. 


MR. HARRIS AGAIN 


373 


But as Ned sat watching Dorothy that evening after 
the play, these facts were to him as bars between them. 

A waiter leaned over and spoke to him. He rose 
and excused himself. He was wanted at the tele- 
phone. 

In a few moments he came back, and smilingly an- 
nounced to the company that the city manager from 
whom they had had hopes, had asked him to call the 
next morning, to talk over the purchase of “ The 
Secret.” 

“ The foundation of the pile,” he said nodding at 
Dorothy. 

Mr. Harris’ face was beaming. 

“ Take the best you can get, you two playwrights,” 
he advised. “ But don’t let him think you will.” 

“ Not we!” laughed Ned. “I’ll bluff him to the 
best of my ability.” 

That night Dorothy wrote to Mrs. Brooke: 

“ Mother dear : 

“ The play was a big success ! And partly, I’m sure, 
because it was so well acted. You’ve heard Mr. Nor- 
ris’ praises sung many a time; and Pell-Mell outdid 
herself. But Kitty Hyde was a surprise to me, much 
as I had believed in her. She certainly is born to the 
work she loves. I should not be surprised if she be- 
came great in her art, there is so much about her act- 
ing that one could never teach her. 

“ Mr. Whitman, the manager of the city theatre, 


374 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

wants to talk to Ned about buying our play; you re- 
member I wrote you of the possibility. Ned is to see 
him to-morrow and make the best bargain he can. 
I’ve given him the right to decide for me also. You 
know, he must have the money — his part of it — and 
we can’t hold up for better bids; we might not get 
any! You know how I feel about taking any of the 
price of the play; but I can’t help myself. I’ll get it 
back again to Grace in some way, if I can. But I’m 
not sure about that, because both she and Ned are so 
proud, and so sharp to scent things out. 

“ All this evening I watched Mr. Harris. I did so 
hope he’d want to have a talk with Ned. And he did 
for a few minutes; but it amounted to nothing. I 
was fearfully disappointed. I told you my especial 
hope in asking them, good as it is to see them. At 
last, as the party was breaking up, he came to me and 
said that he hoped when the spirit moved and time 
permitted without driving myself too hard, I would 
favor his magazine with another story; he understood 
me so well by this time that he was sure I would not 
be offended, even if he should happen to ask for a few 
changes in it ; but this was only providing against pos- 
sibilities . I was pleased, as you know. But it was not 
all I wanted. I thought he laughed a little to himself 
as he turned away. He couldn’t have known my wish ; 
but he’s so keen to see absurdities, I may have done 
something to amuse him. 

“And then, mother dear, at last it came! As he 
and Ned were going out of the room, he in advance, 
he turned back and put his arm through Ned’s. 



HE WAS WANTED AT THE TELEPHONE 







MR. HARRIS AGAIN 


375 

“‘Are you in a hurry, Longley?’ I heard him 
say. ‘ I’d like five minutes’ talk with you. I have to 
leave by an early train to-morrow.’ 

“ And they passed out together. 

“And now, while I’m waiting for to-morrow’s 
news, I must hie me to my little bed — it really is a 
little bed — and write you the rest when I know it. 
Dear love to everybody, says your little comrade, 
Dorothy.” 

“I pity one of those two young fellows, Edith,” 
said Mr. Harris to his wife that evening when they 
were alone together — “ I mean, Longley and Bridges.” 

She looked at him in surprise. “ I don’t under- 
stand,” she answered him. “ Which one do you pity? 
And why ? ” 

“ The one who does not get that delightful Doro- 
thy,” he said. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed. And after a minute, she 
added, “ Perhaps, Laurence, neither one will get her.” 

“ True, most sapient woman,” he answered, smiling 
into her eyes. 


XXXVIII 


BRIDGES* CONVICTION 

“ We’re all proud of you, proud of being intimately 
acquainted with an author — aren’t we; Clara? ” 
laughed Susie Codman in Dorothy’s room the follow- 
ing morning. 

“ Indeed, we are,” assented Clara Morton heartily. 

“We came to bring you the judgment of the class; 
and of the whole college, too, I’ve not a doubt,” pur- 
sued Susie. “ And now we must run off and leave 
you to study — if you can, with all your fame buzzing 
in your ears — and to look after our own lessons, which 
need attention; or mine do.” 

She moved toward the door, stopped, turned and 
came up to Dorothy again. Putting her hands on the 
girl’s shoulders, she looked into her eyes with an af- 
fection that warmed Dorothy’s heart. 

“When I’ve said we’re proud of you, Dorothy 
Brooke,” she began impulsively, “ I’ve not said the 
half of it. We love you, and that’s a hundred times 
more. You’re top-lofty sometimes, in a way, when you 
think that something not square is going on and you 
want to down it — that’s mixed metaphor, but it’s com- 
mon sense. But for all that, you’re just the humblest 
little girl about taking your honors. There can’t be 
376 


BRIDGES’ CONVICTION 


377 

an empty place in your head, to get swelled. You’re 
no Jack Horner; when your thumb goes into your pie 
and pulls out a plum, you never cry, ‘ What a great 
fellow am I!’ You’re always thinking how much 
better you ought to have done; and that keeps you 
modest of merit. And then, too, you’re always think- 
ing how you can make it nice for the rest of us — I’ve 
seen your motto : 

* Not what we give, but what we share, — 

For the gift without the giver is bare/ 

I’m happy to say you’re not perfect; you do have 
small lapses once in a while, to comfort the rest of us. 
But, on the whole, you’re fighting it out on that line. 
You’ve a mighty clever head; but you’ve the biggest 
heart in the lot. And that’s why we love you — love 
you, Dorothy Brooke, which is a vast deal more than 
admiring you — there ! ” She finished by giving the 
girl a quick hug and falling back, slightly embarrassed. 

“ It’s all exactly true, Dorothy,” asserted Clara. 

Dorothy gave a half-suppressed sob, and for an in- 
stant her eyes grew dim. 

“ I don’t know' what to say to you, girls,” she an- 
swered. 

“ Say nothing. Be like Washington, let your merit 
be only equalled by your modesty,” laughed Susie 
who having spoken out her heart, was now trying to 
relieve the situation. 

“ I was proud of the play, though the best of it 
wasn’t mine,” said Dorothy. “ But if the girls really 


378 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

love me, it’s so much more. I’m very grateful — • 
though I’m not at all what you think.” 

“ Oh, we understand that. It’s just a mirage we 
see you through,” cried Susie. “ And now, good-by. 
Come, Clara.” 

The latter with a smiling nod to Dorothy, and a 
quick pat of a caressing hand, ran after her companion. 

Dorothy stood remembering the day that her motto 
had brought her at Hosmer Hall to the hard choice 
between desire and duty; and that the narrow path of 
the latter had brought her out into a pleasant road un- 
suspected at the time. She knew how often she had 
failed to follow out the Divine precept; but she was 
deeply touched that it had seemed to her mates that 
she cared for it. 

That same afternoon she sat in the reception room 
with Charley Bridges, whom she had at first supposed 
had come to say farewell before returning to his home. 
But her first glance at him showed her why he had 
come. She would have liked to turn and run away. 
At least, he should not get her out for a walk the sec- 
ond time. 

He did not attempt it. The room for the moment 
was empty of all but themselves. He took advantage 
of this opportunity with a directness and a decision 
■that gave him dignity in her eyes. 

For he had resolved to have it out with her, as he 
put it to himself. Longley could not marry her; he 
was tied hand and foot; and yet it had not turned out 
according to Bridges’ expectations; Longley had not 


BRIDGES’ CONVICTION 


379 

been too engrossed by his work to come to see Doro- 
thy. On the contrary, he seemed to be always hav- 
ing business with her. Charley Bridges resolved that 
if she would accept himself, there should be no more 
of this collaboration, this play-writing with Longley. 
She would be more charming to Bridges, if she could 
be that, without her writing; and she would have 
money enough, and need never go to earning it. For 
although he was a good fellow and a fine business 
man, art for art’s sake was quite beyond him. Why 
should people, he asked himself, want to do things for 
the love of doing them when they cared little or noth- 
ing for the financial result? He decided that this was 
a mere fad. He did not hold money so high as love 
and home and those things that made life happy. 
But he held it much higher than the creation of beauty 
for the sake of beauty — especially where such work 
brought together two persons whom it was Bridges’ 
desire and intention to separate. 

He rose as Dorothy entered the room, and going 
forward to her took her hand and drew her toward 
one of the easy-chairs at the further end. 

“ Please sit here,” he began earnestly. “ I have 
something to say to you.” He seated himself in an- 
other chair facing her, and for a moment he looked 
directly into her eyes. 

She met his gaze smilingly at first, then a little 
coldly. 

“Why should I beat about the bush, Dorothy?” 
he said. “ We are liable to be interrupted any mo- 
ment. You are in my thoughts day and night. I’ve 


380 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

come to know from you if you have considered the 
question I asked you in the winter — the one question 
in the world to me? And I implore you to answer it 
as I long to hear you. Say ‘ yes ’ to me Dorothy.’’ 

She met his look with kindness, and answered, 

“ Yes, Mr. Bridges, I have considered carefully, as I 
promised you; and ” 

“ And you will marry me, Dorothy — you will ? ” 
he broke in with a desperation that had come over him 
at the look in her face. 

Her eyes grew very sad. 

“ No, Mr. Bridges,” she answered him, and there 
was decision in her tone. “ I told you then that I could 
not marry you. I told you then that I liked you very, 
very much indeed — but not in that way. I can only 
say the same thing over again. I begged you then 
not to reconsider it; I told you I was sure. Oh, you 
are such a friend; you’ve always been so kind and 
good. I wish you did not want to marry me ! ” 

“How can anybody help it?” broke from him in- 
voluntarily as he sat looking at her with a pleading 
that hurt her. For he had not finished, he would 
not give her up so easily. 

In one way fortune favored him; the room for 
some little time remained empty, save for the lover 
who pleaded in vain and the girl who at first sat 
racked with the pain of refusal, and then touched with 
a sense of injury at his persistence. Did he think 
that she did not know her own mind, or that she was 
trifling with him, and that his pain was not distress 
to her? 


BRIDGES’ CONVICTION 381 

As she sat listening to him, there were moments in 
which she scarcely heard what he was saying to her. 
For through all his pleading came another voice say- 
ing to her over and over Ned Longley’s whispered 
words of love that evening so long ago in this very 
room — words that now he could never finish, bound as 
he was by hard fate. But in all the time since she had 
heard them, they had lived to her like a beautiful reve- 
lation. And now they and the sound of the voice that 
had uttered them swept in through the pleadings of 
Bridges and rang their music through her pulses. 

But while Bridges was speaking and she sat wait- 
ing for her opportunity to reply with a firmness that 
should leave him no hope, the speaker came to a 
sudden halt and sat staring at her with wide open eyes. 
For an instant he believed that she was yielding to him. 
Impulsively he bent forward, still staring at the face 
which had so changed in expression, taking on warmth 
and color and a look of eager welcome; for an instant 
his pulses bounded. 

Then he perceived that Dorothy was not looking at 
him. She was facing the door and it was there that 
her eyes were turned; it was for the one there that 
new life had come into her face. 

With the word on his lips unuttered, Bridges turned 
sharply about. 

Ned Longley had entered and was walking swiftly 
up the room, his look upon Dorothy, his manner tri- 
umphant. 

And then he did something which Dorothy never 
forgot. He had come halfway up the long room, so 


382 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

engrossed in the news he was bringing her that he had 
not yet taken in the state of affairs before his eyes. 
But the next moment he halted; his face changed to a 
questioning look. 

“Your brother is not here, Dorothy?” he asked 
abruptly. “ I must see him a moment at once. Ex- 
cuse me, please. Good morning, Bridges. Do you 
think Brooke is in his rooms?” he went on, turning 
again to her. “ I must have a word with him.” 

“ He telephoned me from there about an hour ago,” 
she answered with a comprehension that amounted 
to admiration as she watched Ned turn and go more 
quietly, but not less swiftly, than he had entered. His 
face had dropped its eagerness, but not a line of it, 
or a tone of his voice, or a pause or movement of em- 
barrassment betrayed consciousness of what he had 
interrupted. Dorothy could not be sure that he knew. 
Yet she believed that he had come to her, not to find 
Rex, but to tell her the word from Mr. Harris; that 
it was herself he had wanted to see. 

In the hall, out of sight, he leaned for an instant 
against the wall, his breath coming hard, his hands 
clenched. “ Will she take that fellow? ” he whispered 
to himself hoarsely. “Oh, Dorothy! Dorothy, my 
love!” He almost fell down the steps of the house 
as he rushed away. “ If I could fight him ! ” he mut- 
tered. “Could meet him in fair field, and win her! 
Oh, Dorothy!” 

He walked on, at first he knew not where. But It 
was hours before in sarcastic humor he sought Rex. 
Not until evening did he return again to Dorothy. 


BRIDGES’ CONVICTION 383 

Bridges had risen at Longley’s entrance. At last 
he had perceived that there was nothing more to be 
said. He had not accepted Dorothy’s words; he was 
compelled to accept her face. Had she looked at him 
as she had looked at Ned Longley, he said to himself, 
he would have caught her in his arms. He knew noth- 
ing of her expectation of news which had given added 
eagerness to her expression; yet without that he would 
have found it enough. Longley was out of the run- 
ning. But Bridges himself was cut off just the same. 

He stood a minute, looking at the girl in silence, 
hardly comprehending what she was saying to him and 
her messages to his mother and Grace. In his heart 
he was saying farewell to her. 

Then quietly, sadly, he drew himself together and 
bade her farewell with a manly dignity that lacked 
none of its old kindness. “How I wish you could 
love me, Dorothy,” he said. 

“ Oh, in one way I do, with all my heart ! ” cried she. 
“ I’m so grieved for all this. You know it.” 

“ I know it,” he said. 

And he turned and left her. 


XXXIX 


HER TRIUMPH 

“ Yes/'' said Ned Longley to Dorothy as he sat 
talking to her in the very chair that Bridges had oc- 
cupied, “ Mr. Harris has made me an offer to do edi- 
torial work on the magazine as his assistant. He 
says the place is difficult, as he is a hard man to work 
under, and the pay for the first year is nominal. Af- 
ter that it will be much better to any one who fills the 
post satisfactorily. 

“ Oh, Ned, how fine!” cried Dorothy clasping her 
hands and looking at him with that eagerness in which 
Bridges had read so much. Dorothy did not dream 
that she had seemed to betray herself to his jealous 
eyes. Indeed, she did not herself know how much 
more than good comradeship and friendship she had 
for Ned; of these she was sure. And how could she 
help being glad he loved her? It should be their un- 
spoken secret, to make the passing years seem brighter. 
“ Tell me all about it,” she asked that day concerning 
Mr. Harris. “ Tell me the very words he said.” 

“He said I was a promising subject — since you 
must know,” returned the young man. 

“ Of course ! It wouldn’t take a man as clever as 
Mr. Harris to find that out. Why, they all found 
3S4 


HER TRIUMPH 385 

it out at the play the other night/' And she laughed 
triumphantly. 

“ Thank you/' he said, more sadly it seemed to her 
than the occasion warranted. 

“Well! Are you melancholy over it?\" she teased. 

“ Harris is exactly the one to give me the practice 
I need, Dorothy. His personal criticisms and cor- 
rections would be invaluable to me; and the work is 
what I need. But ” 

“But what?" cried the girl anxiously. 

“ I told you, didn't I, that he had sent me a check 
for my story for the magazine? A very good-sized 
check, considering the length, and quality, of the 
story." 

“ Yes, you did. But, Ned,” and she bent toward 
him and her tones were full of eagerness, “you’re 
going to take this position? Why, you must." 

“Yes; if I can do the work and Mr. Bridges' work 
too," he said returning her look with one of earnest- 
ness. “You know how things are, Dorothy. You'd 
never wish me to sacrifice my mother to my ambition." 
It was not a question, but an assertion. 

“ Never ! never ! " she said. “ I hope I should do 
the same for my mother," she added, voicing the 
thought which had been in her mind many times. 

“ Do you think I doubt it you funny child ? " he an- 
swered smiling at her. “What you would do helps 
teach me; but you don’t understand that. I’m going 
to have a talk with Bridges," he added before she 
could answer his first assertion. “ You may be sure 
I will take Harris's place, if I can." 


386 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“ What kind of a man is Mr. Bridges, Sr., Ned? ” 

“ A thoroughgoing business man. He’s fine, if you 
do your work. But if you’re not up to the mark — * 
well, I imagine there’d be trouble; I’ve not come to 
that yet, though. Thus far he seems satisfied with 
what I’ve done for him ; I don’t know how long it will 
last. That’s one reason why I should be especially 
glad to have Mr. Harris to hold to. But Bridges is 
a good sort, Dorothy, if he is a little amusing. He 
has a trick of saying, ‘ Bless my soul! ’that tickled me 
uncommonly at first. But then, that’s a good deal bet- 
ter than if he said, ‘Curse my soul!”’ 

Dorothy burst out laughing. And somewhat of the 
weight of Longley’s responsibilities fell of! from her. 

“ You’ve been so interested in Mr. Harris, that 
you’ve not asked me one word about the play,” he 
said. 

“ As you did not say a word, I thought you’d not 
seen the manager yet.” 

“ Indeed, I have. I’ve no idea of letting him slip 
through our fingers if we can help it. I’ve brought 
you his offer. I said I’d talk it over with the col- 
laborator.” 

“ But we’ll have to take what we can get,” she cried. 
“ I gave you my consent to anything you thought it 
best to take.” 

“ Yes, I know you did. But you don’t understand 
business as I’m learning it,” he returned with a smile. 
“ It would never do to let the manager think you 
were so anxious to sell that you’d give me liberty to 
do it at any price.” 


HER TRIUMPH 387 

“Oh, I see,” said Dorothy. “Well, what has he 
offered? ” 

He told her. 

“I shall feel quite rich,” she said. “Though, of 
course, I wish it were a great deal more.” 

“ Harris says he’s done fairly by us for a first play 
by amateurs. • And that will give me something pleas- 
ant to say to mamma when I tell her the story of our 
fallen fortunes. It must come now. It would never 
do to leave her find it out for herself, and she is so 
quick to draw inferences.” 

“ But she is so much better,” said Dorothy softly. 
“ She’s getting well — or comparatively well. That’s 
everything.” 

The young man sighed secretly as he looked at her. 
It was much, certainly ; but it was not everything. 

“Bridges says Chesterdown is a scamp,” he went 
on. “ I see he believes that some of my father’s 
money is sticking to his fingers. But if it is, what 
can we do? We have no money to fight him with, 
and nothing to go upon to prove dishonesty. Belief, 
you know, is one thing; and proof quite another.” 

“Yes,” she answered. “I’m so sorry for you and 
Grace.” She sat pondering. The more she wanted 
to offer him her share of the play, or to remind him of 
Rex’s money — only as an advance to fight the, dis- 
honest lawyer, the more she knew she must not. At 
last she looked up eagerly. “ But the mining stock? ” 
she asked. “ You took that back, didn’t you? ” 

“Yes. And it’s been going down about ever 
since.” 


388 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“Poor Ned!” she said softly, and sat looking at 
him. Tears had risen to her eyes. 

As he looked back at her, his breath quickened. 

“ Oh, Dorothy ! Dorothy ! ” he cried. “ I want you 
to know just how things are. You will understand.” 

And he got himself out of the room. 

“ Dorothy dear,” wrote Olive Brooke to her sister, 

“Of course, I’m coming to Class Day — Rex’s — • 
and, of course, I shall bring mamma with me. That’s 
only a part of the truth. It’s Rex’s graduation, and 
papa is coming, too; and nobody has the heart to 
leave out poor Harry. So, there’ll be a family party 
— not that there’ll be much of the family circle about 
it, with so many things going on ! Rex says he’s an 
old codger, anyway, and there’ll be no fuss made about 
him. You can’t always find out how much he means, 
though. But you, he says, are coming out in a blaze 
of glory — he means, I know, next year when you 
graduate. You’ve honors, he says; and you’ve 
friends, and you’ve a following, and there’s no know- 
ing what you haven’t. Now, Dorothy, is it all true? 
I mean, isn’t it partly a brother’s partiality? In my 
year at Hosmer Hall I’ve heard lots of good things 
about you; at first they kept saying, ‘Oh, Dorothy 
Brooke’s sister ! ’ until I got to feel that I’d like a little 
individuality of my own. I think I’ve achieved it 
now. 

“ You know mamma invited Mrs. Longley to spend 
a month with us this summer, and promised her all 
the quiet she would like, and said how happy she would 


HER TRIUMPH 


389 

make us all by coming, the young people knew her 
so well from the motor car trip, and she and papa 
wanted to be much better acquainted with her than 
they had had opportunity to be. Mamma left out 
Harry and me when she talked of the young people 
and the motor car trip; but we’re used to being left 
out. I tell Harry our day will come. But Mrs. 
Longley declined; she says she is not well enough yet 
to visit. She wrote a lovely note of thanks though, 
and mamma says, most appreciative. I don’t mean 
that she wrote it herself; she dictated it to the nurse; 
but she managed to sign her own name — in such a 
crooked way, poor thing! 

“ Now, make ready for us when we come, Dorothy ! 
And do let us have a hint of that blaze of glory to 
come, or Harry and I will be awfully disappointed. 
As to papa and mamma, I know they’ll be glad to see 
you if you come home with your head tucked under 
your arm — like our little bantam, only, hers is a wing. 

“ Nemo is fine; on tiptoe of expectation of your and 
Rex’s home coming; we’ve told him all about it; you’ll 
never believe he doesn’t understand. Lots of love to 
Priscy, and to Grace when you write her. 

“ Your devoted sister, 

“ Olive.” 

It was the morning before Class Day at Ridge- 
more, which that year preceded Class Day at the other 
college. A group of girls stood in the yard discussing 
college matters, and the prospect of fair weather for 
the following evening. The “ finals ” were over with 


390 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

nearly all of them, and an air of relief pervaded the 
group. 

“To-morrow belongs to the Seniors, girls/’ said 
Dorothy. “ But to-night is our own. Suppose we 
take it. Somebody propose something to do to cele- 
brate.” 

Several suggestions' had been made and vetoed, 
when Mattie Winters said, “ Propose something your- 
self, Dorothy; I know you’ve got it up your sleeve.” 

“ What do you say to a masquerade? ” she asked. 

“Tip-top!” cried Mattie. “Who betters it?” 

Nobody did; and the motion went by acclaim. 

“ The Juniors will give it ; and let’s invite whom we 
please in the college only,” said Dorothy. “ Then we 
can have all the antics we want.” 

They all endorsed that decision. They wanted 
just to be jolly and have the house to themselves. 
After some further planning for the evening, Dorothy 
went to one and another, holding out her hand. 

“ Contributions, please,” she said. 

“Why, what for?” asked Clara Morton who was 
fond of the question. 

“To pay me for my popular suggestion, to be 
sure,” explained Dorothy. “ Or perhaps it’s for ice- 
cream and cake to cool us off after our fun.” 

“How do you think of things!” exclaimed Susie 
Codman. 

“ I’m so greedy, you see. I dote on ice-cream. All 
this affair is just for the sake of getting some,” re- 
torted the girl with a sober face, although her eyes 
were dancing. 


HER TRIUMPH 


391 

“ It will have to be a sheet-and-pillow-case affair/’ 
said Dora Wilson. 

“ Why ? asked Clara again/’ 

“Oh, because everybody knows everybody’s else 
frocks, and we couldn’t be disguised, you see.” 

“ We could be disguised all the better, if we swapped 
one another’s frocks, and didn’t give away the 
borrowers,” said Dorothy. “No sheet-and-pillow- 
case crowd for me! I don’t want to be a sheeted 
ghost!” 

Everybody agreed with her, as in much merriment 
the girls dispersed to their several duties, or amuse- 
ments. 

“ Who’d ever think, girls,” said Mattie Winters as 
with several others she went to her own dormitory, 
“that Dorothy Brooke was such a student? But we 
all know she is good in science, though not first there 
by any means; but she’s fine in languages, splendid in 
literature and metaphysics, and always high up in her 
theses, now Professor Whitehall has found her out.” 

“ And that play ! ” cried Clara Morton. “ It wasn’t 
all Ned Longley’s, though Dorothy’s so afraid of tak- 
ing more than her share of praise for it.” 

“ I’ll give a toast,” cried Clara. “ Dorothy Brooke, 
first in peaceful literature, and first in fun, which is 
much better than war, as all the world is beginning to 
find out.” 

The girls, went on merrily, making cups of their 
hands and pretending to drink to Clara’s toast, then 
dropping into more quiet talk as one and another 
turned off to her own destination. 


392 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

The fun at the masquerade was fast and brilliant; 
but it never degenerated into rowdyism. The girls did 
not unmask until supper, and so well had they kept 
the secrets of their identities that the air rippled with 
laughter when Dorothy who believed that she had been 
dancing with Susie Codman in the guise of a Dutch 
maiden, discovered in that maiden, Priscy Pell, her 
burnished hair cleverly concealed in her huge cap. 

“ I knew you were a good actress, Pell-Mell,” she 
cried between her peals of merriment; “but I’d no 
idea you could deceive me like this.” 

“ It’s good for one to be taken down once in a 
while,” retorted the girl. “ For my part, I’m glad to 
get this hot thing off.” And she tossed away her 
mask and pulled off the heavy cap. 

“ You cheated me yourself, Dorothy,” said Dora 
Wilson. “ I thought, surely, you were Clara Morton, 
though she’s not quite as tall as you. But it’s hard to 
tell when you’re not togethere ; and you mimicked her 
voice.” 

“ I thought she was, too,” said Mattie Winters. 

“ So did I, at first,” confessed Susie. 

“ Then it was a success,” said Dorothy as she thre\y 
aside her mask and stood her own smiling self, full 
of bright sayings and amusing mimicry, in which there 
were many to aid her. “If only Grace could be 
here ! ” she thought. But she did not say it, to mar 
the enjoyment of the others. 

Near the end of the evening, however, Priscy 
whispered this to her. 

“ Yes, I’m remembering her,” returned Dorothy in 


HER TRIUMPH 


393 


the same tone, meeting the eyes looking into hers and 
loving Pell-Mell all the more for thinking of Grace. 
“But, of course, the rest are not thinking about her 
now,” she added. “ And we can’t mope.” 

Then the last dance of the evening began, Pell- 
Mell declared it a fandango. It was, certainly, a 
strange mixture of a dance and some of the athletics 
of the gymnasium, and sent the girls home stuffing 
their handerchiefs into their mouths, lest they should 
shout with laughter on the way. 

“There! We’ve done it, haven’t we? We’ve 
polished off the year, Pell-Mell,” smiled Dorothy as 
the two sat a moment in her room talking over the 
evening. “ What would the dear, proper dean have 
said? I’m glad she didn’t see us. But I’d be quite 
willing to have had my mother there,” she added with 
a laugh at her recollections. 

To Dorothy it had been a year of triumph — in her 
studies, in her theses and other literary work, in her 
place among her mates. 


XL 


COLONEL PELL APPEARS 

Class Day at Rex’s college! And Rex’s recep- 
tion! 

The weather was magnificent. Rain in the night 
had revived the whole landscape. The morning sun 
had taken the drops from the grass, but left the fresh- 
ness of them behind. It was not too warm for the 
season, and the gala gowns were out in full force. 
The great yard of the college was brilliant with the 
students and their guests; the young fellows were at 
their best, the girls all more or less charming. The 
Class Day exercises, the talks under the trees, the ex- 
change of gay nothings, the giving and receiving of 
glances of admiration — the whole scene, and all that 
had been done were delightful. 

But to Dorothy the spread in Rex’s room was best 
of all, because she met there her father and her mother, 
Olive and Harry. Rex had stood well in his class, al- 
though he had made so light of his rank; his spread 
was excellent, but not more sumptuous than that of 
many another student; it seemed to him vulgar to try 
to outdo fellows whose purses were not so long as 
his own. 


394 


COLONEL PELL APPEARS 


395 

“ Mamma,” said Dorothy as she stood beside Mrs. 
Brooke, “ my head is full of the delightful times and 
talks you and I are to have this vacation. It’s a long 
while since we’ve been much together; but this sum- 
mer we’ll be together all the time.” 

The mother looked at her daughter with a happy 
smile. “ It seems to me a long time, too,” she said. 
“ It will be a joy to have you at home this summer.” 

“ Yes, Doro, we’ll have a jolly time all together this 
summer — or a good part of it,” added Rex, who had 
overheard. 

“ And I hope we shall come in for a share of atten- 
tion,” cried Olive, coming up. 

Rex nodded at her and laughed. 

And another also laughed at the home-staying pro- 
ject — Fate, approaching with unseen steps. 

“Lulu!” cried Dorothy ten minutes afterward as 
she greeted the other’s entrance. “You’re the dear- 
est, loveliest girl here ! ” 

“ Right, Doro, as you always are,” exclaimed Rex 
coming up behind her. He stretched out his hand to 
Lulu Bromley and held hers closely for a moment. 
“ And now I’m out of college, Doro,” he added turn- 
ing to his sister, his face radiant, “ she’s consented to 
let me say that we’re engaged.” 

“ Consented to be engaged, you mean,” cried Lulu, 
her face scarlet, and hastily drawing away her hand. 
“ But I never consented to a family announcement here 
at your spread, Rex, with everybody looking on.” 

“ Really, you’ve not lost any time, Rex,” laughed 
Dorothy. 


396 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

For he was trying to lead Lulu to his mother. 

“ Dear ! dear ! I’ve begun to be taken in hand at 
once ! ” he sighed in mock despair. 

But he left her, to attend to new guests. 

Yet, for all that, it soon came about that Mrs. 
Brooke and Lulu’s grandmother were having a confi- 
dential and satisfactory chat in a quiet corner of the 
room. It was then that Dorothy looked up at Ned 
as he brought her an ice. 

“You know about Lulu and Rex?” she asked. 
“Isn’t it fine?” 

“Yes; I’m glad for them,” he said. He knew he 
ought to be glad that somebody was happy. 

“ It’s too bad my step-mamma was ill and couldn’t 
come,” Priscy was saying at the same time to Norris, 
who hovered about her. 

“Yes, indeed, too bad! ” he echoed. But he really 
was delighted, since the lady was not seriously indis- 
posed. 

“ Have you noticed in how much esteem our little 
girl is held? ” said Judge Brooke in an undertone to his 
wife as the two* were leaving. “You’d not know the 
dean with her smile as gracious as she can make it 
for the formal person who greeted Dorothy that morn- 
ing I brought her here and hated so to leave the poor 
child. The professors, too, are all cordial to her. 
She heads her class; and I’ve no doubt she will next 
year also. And Rex has come out well.” 

“ I always knew he would,” said his mother. Then 
she told her husband Dorothy’s speech about spending 
the summer with her family. 


COLONEL PELL APPEARS 


397 


“That will be a treat/’ he declared. “And we’ll 
have no invasion* of the Syrians this year, and not 
much company. Let us have a home party.” 

“ Lulu Bromley will be with us quite a little time,” 
she said. “ But she already seems one of us, and is 
to be more so.” And she told him the news. 

“I’ve suspected the wind blew from that quarter,” 
he answered. “And it’s a good one.” 

It was a joy to Dorothy that Grace was present, 
and for her sake she was unusually cordial to Mrs. 
Bridges. Mr. Bridges, Sr., whom Rex had invited 
with the rest of his family, had declined with thanks. 
He informed Ned that he shouldn’t know what to do 
with his hands ; he never did when they were not doing 
something useful. But there was no reason, he said, 
why Charley shouldn’t go, except that he’d turned 
mumpy all of a sudden and wouldn’t go anywhere. 
His listener was not slow to comprehend why. 
Bridges was to be pitied, he said to himself; and he 
knew that he ought to pity him more than he 
did. 


“ Pell-Mell, it was a success from beginning to 
end ! ” exclaimed Dorothy that evening as at her 
friend’s invitation, she threw herself into the arm- 
chair in Priscy’s room. “And the dancing wasn’t 
much like our masquerade affair.” The other joined 
in her laugh. “ But it’s over. Though I hope there’ll 
be more good things to follow.” 

“ It is to be hoped so, certainly,” said a voice at the 
open door; and as both girls started, a face appeared, 


398 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

brought by steps unheard in their talk. “ This is not 
a burglar/’ laughed the voice. 

“ Oh, papa! Why didn’t you come before? ” And 
Priscy was in his arms. 

“This is the first hour of leisure I’ve had to-day; 
and I’ve taken it to come to see you girls — No, no, 
don’t go, Miss Dorothy. My errand is as much to 
you as to Priscilla — more, because I’m sure of her, 
and I’ve come to ask you.” 

Here was Fate in the person of Colonel Pell, who 
smiled contentedly at his daughter’s warm welcome, 
and seated himself facing the two girls. 

“Yes, I borrowed an hour from the government 
business to come to ask Miss Brooke a question. We 
want to run away with you both this summer, Mrs. 
Pell and I. We know Priscilla will be delighted. 
But how should you feel, Miss Brooke, about taking 
a trip to England with us this summer?” 

“ A trip to England — this summer ! ” cried Dorothy, 
springing to her feet, radiant. “ Oh, Colonel Pell, 
you take my breath away ! ” Suddenly, her face fell. 
“ But,” she began, “ I’ve promised my mother ” 

“ Your mother is a good person to promise,” he in- 
terrupted her, laughing. “ She will always think of 
you.” 

“ Yes, and I ought to think of her. And I’ve just 
promised her to stay at home this summer, or go with 
her if she goes anywhere; but in any case to be with 
her. And so ” 

“The matter will have to be all talked over with 
your mother and Judge Brooke — that’s understood,” 


COLONEL PELL APPEARS 


399 


answered Colonel Pell, smiling. “ All I want to-night 
is your assurance that you’d like to come with us, if 
they consent? If you don’t wish to come,” he added, 
a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, “ why, there is no 
use in appealing to them; they, certainly, will not com- 
pel you.” 

“ But they might say ‘ yes 9 for my sake, when I 
ought to say ‘ no ’ for theirs, Colonel Pell.” 

“All that is my part of the affair; leave it to me, 
Dorothy,” he answered her with decision. “ I’ve come 
to get from you information on one point. Give it 
to me, please. If the way were open fairly to you, 
would you like to go abroad with us this summer?” 

“ Like it ! Oh ! ” cried Dorothy. “ Like it ! How 
could I help liking it? ” 

“ That’s all for to-night,” he said. “ I must get 
my train and be in Washington to-morrow as early 
as possible. Uncle Sam expects his affairs attended 
to promptly. But as soon as I can arrange it, I’ll run 
up to Brookehurst and talk over the matter.” 

“ Oh, but they are here to-night,” cried the girl. 
“I mean, they are in the city; they came down to 
Class Day. You could see them there.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha ! ” her hearer broke out in open amuse- 
ment. “You really do want to go. But it’s too late 
to see them to-night; and then I couldn’t stay over, 
as I’ve told you. I am to be sent to England on gov- 
ernment business; and it wouldn’t do to be behind time 
here — they might decide to send somebody else. Then 
where would you and Priscilla be? But I’ll remember 
Brookehurst. You can depend upon me.” 


400 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“I always did,” answered Dorothy. 

He turned from where he stood as he had risen to 
go, and looked at her with deep earnestness in his 
face. 

“Yes,” he said, “you did. And I’ve no words to 
tell you what I owe to you, Dorothy Brooke.” 

He turned again toward the door. When there, 
he looked back. 

“ I ought to have made it clear,” he said to Doro- 
thy, “ that this is not to be a visit to the Continent. To 
me it’s a business trip for the government, as I said. 
It will be confined to England, with a run into Scot- 
land, a tolerably long one, I trust, and, possibly, a 
glimpse of Wales. I doubt whether we shall be able 
to go to Ireland at all.” 

“ There are a few things worth seeing in England 
and Scotland,” retorted the girl. 

“I’m glad you think so,” he answered heartily; 
and seemed to be gone ; when, suddenly, his retreating 
steps paused; he approached again, and his amused 
face looked in at the doorway once more. 

“ By the way, I intended to say we’ll marry you to 
a milord,” he added, smiling at Dorothy in her beauty. 

After this, he really went. 

The two girls stood looking at one another in silence 
for a moment. Then Priscy exclaimed, “ I don’t see 
why he didn’t promise me a milord, too ! ” and burst 
out laughing. 

“ You may have mine,” Dorothy laughed back. “ I 
don’t want him.” 

“Thank you; but I prefer one of my own.” 


COLONEL PELL APPEARS 401 

“ What fun to travel with you, Pell-Mell ! ” cried 
Dorothy. 

“ And how about traveling with you, Dorothy 
Brooke? ” 

Then the girls hugged one another in their delight. 


CHAPTER XLI 


CASTLE BUILDING 

“ You'll study up about the places you’re to go to, 
I suppose?” said Clara Morton with great interest. 

“No time,” returned Priscy. “We’re to be off in 
a few days ” 

“If I go at all,” interposed Dorothy. 

“Of course you’ll go. And then, papa has been to 
most of the places before,” she said to Clara. “ He 
can tell us about them. And then we’ll take plenty 
of Baedekers.” 

Her hearers laughed. 

“ What won’t you see ! ” exclaimed Clara wist- 
fully. 

“Yes, indeed — everything!” announced Dorothy. 
“The house where Shakespeare was born, and the 
place he lived in, and the church where he worshiped, 
and the forest of Arden, and the homes of so many 
great men; and the ruins of dungeons where they put 
some of the old kings as prisoners; and the old well 
in the castle down which poor Amy Robsart was 
thrown; and so many scenes from Scott — and there’s 
no knowing what we shall not see ! ” 

Susie Codman had come up, and stood listening. 

402 


CASTLE BUILDING 


403 

“ I’m sorry there is to be nothing to fill up your 
time ! ” she laughed. Then she added earnestly : “ I 
know you girls will have such a summer. All I speak 
for is to hear about it when you come home.” 

As Dorothy pictured to herself the girls sitting 
about and listening to accounts of their adventures, 
she felt a pang to think that Grace’s dear face would 
not be among them. And Ned would be working like 
a Trojan all summer; but work was not the worst 
thing, by any means. Mr. Bridges was going to allow 
him to try Mr. Harris’ offer also, and, as he had put 
it, see if the fellow could carry a bundle on each shoul- 
der? Then, Mrs. Longley was improving; very far 
from well, it was true, and probably never to be even 
fairly well; but so much better than it had seemed 
possible she would be. And nobody had ever heard a 
word of complaint from Ned. Dorothy was proud 
of being the friend of a fellow with such pluck. 

“ When I come to be Dorothy’s age, I just hope 
some fine Colonel and Mrs. Pell will turn up to want 
to escort me abroad ! ” cried Olive when her sister’s 
coming trip was being discussed. 

“ Then you must earn it all, Olive,” answered Mrs. 
Brooke. “ Dorothy has earned it out of her loving 
heart.” 

“ Oh, yes, Dorothy is a darling,” said the other. “ I 
know that. But I’m going to be, too. I must look 
up somebody to be good to.” 

“ Try me,” said Harry. 

“ Oh, you won’t count, Harry,” she laughed. 


404 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“You’ll not be like Dorothy until you put away 
every thought of anything coming to you for whatever 
you may do,” said Mrs. Brooke, smiling a little sadly 
at her younger daughter whose love of self-seeking 
was a constant trouble to her mother. 

“ But I did want Dorothy to myself this summer,” 
pleaded Olive, changing the subject to one in which 
she was sure of sympathy. 

“ So did I, Olive dear,” answered her mother. “ I 
wanted her very much. But your father and I both 
feel that the change will do her a world of good; and 
it is a rare opportunity to travel with a man so schol- 
arly as Colonel Pell. Dorothy will learn much from 
him, aside from what her own eyes and ears will give 
her. She is grieved herself about leaving us all. But 
we could not forgive ourselves if we said ‘ no ’ to her.” 

“ And we’ll be awfully sweet to you, mamma,” said 
Harry, resting his hand on his mother’s shoulder. 

She turned her head, and kissed the caressing hand 
as it lay there. 

And then Olive came to her with assurances. 

Mrs. Brooke took no thought about Dorothy’s ward- 
robe. She knew that if her daughter should happen to 
want anything, she could get it in London. Indeed, 
shopping in England was one of the amusements which 
the two girls planned for themselves. For in the few 
days Dorothy was at home before the start, notes on 
important matters flew thick and fast between Priscy 
and herself. Indeed, Rex proposed to establish a 
special telephone line for their accommodation. 

“ Make all the fun of me you like,” cried Dorothy. 


CASTLE BUILDING 


405 

“ I shall miss it so much when I’m away this sum- 
mer.” 

“ You might stay at home, and get all you want of 
it ? ” he suggested. 

But to this remark she vouchsafed no reply except 
a smile into his teasing eyes. 

“Not run up to see Miss Brooke off! And Miss 
Longley here her dearest friend who must see the 
last of her, of course — I don’t know what you’re 
thinking about!” exclaimed Mrs. Bridges to her 
spouse and her son as they all sat one evening at din- 
ner. And she turned to Grace for confirmation. But 
as Grace said nothing, Mrs. Bridges went on : “ It 

did pop into my head that it might be a good thing for 
me to take passage in the same steamer, and carry 
Miss Longley along with me. She’d like to see foreign 
lands, I’m sure.” 

Charley Bridges stared at his mother. No, no, she 
would never do it in the world; he knew this was all 
bluff. She could not have forgotten Mrs. Pell’s face 
and manner to her at Mount Rest. She would never 
risk what she would surely receive in such a position. 
If necessary, he would speak out his mind; but it 
would not be. He only grunted, “ Pshaw ! ” 

She glanced at him and went on : “ But it was too 
late to secure good staterooms — I don’t know how 
they managed to get them; Colonel Pell has a pull 
perhaps. Then, I’m not quite up to travel this sum- 
mer. We’ll have it another time, Miss Longley; don’t 
fear.” 


406 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

Her son, who had been listening with poised fork, 
now went on with his dinner; and Mr. Bridges, Sr., 
remarked that he guessed on the whole she’d have 
more room if she took another ship; he didn’t go in 
for crowds. And he winked at his son, having heard 
the history of that un forgotten summer. 

“ I suppose your father’s too busy ; he generally is,” 
continued Mrs. Bridges. “ You’ll have to go with us 
to the steamer, Charley.” 

“ No, I can’t,” he said sharply. “ I won’t do it. 
I’m too busy myself.” 

She looked at him penetratingly, half in scorn. It 
was Grace who caught and understood the pain in his 
tones, and whose eyes turned upon him for an instant 
with sympathy in their gaze. It was probable that 
Dorothy had said “ no ” to him again, and finally. 
It was true that Grace thought most of Ned. But 
Mr. Bridges was so kind that she could not help being 
sorry for him. 

But he was looking neither at her, nor at his 
mother; he was making a pretence of eating, and ap- 
pearing much disturbed at the latter’s demand upon 
him. He certainly would not go. 

Then, as his mother went on urging and he still re- 
fused to give her the satisfaction of his consent, it 
occurred to him that it would be one more opportunity 
to say good-by to Dorothy. Good-by was not the 
word he loved in connection with her; but, possibly, 
it was better than no word at all. He would make no 
promises, however. He would see how things would 
come out. In this he illustrated the old truth that he 


CASTLE BUILDING 


407 

who does not choose to lead, chooses to be led. 

The great ocean liner was a scene of activity from 
stem to stern. But the rush of work in the hold 
packed with innumerable trunks, in the kitchen where 
luncheon was soon to follow the sailing of the ship, 
in all the various departments and complicated ma- 
chinery of this miniature world at sea, was at the mo- 
ment of no interest to the crowd upon the deck of the 
big steamer. 

Here were bright eyes looking forward to the un- 
known scenes and persons beyond the voyage, and 
backward to the dear ones to be left behind. And 
here with almost every traveler were some of these 
same dear ones treasuring the last moments of com- 
panionship. 

Priscy Pell was carrying her home with her; but 
Dorothy was leaving hers behind, and with it friends 
who had never seemed more necessary to her than at 
the moment of parting with them. But this was only 
for a few weeks, soon to pass; and in those weeks 
what was there not to see and enjoy? She flung an 
arm about Grace, as having greeted and said good-by 
to Mrs. Bridges, in almost the same breath, she stood 
a moment talking to Charley Bridges, thanking him 
for his beautiful flowers, ignoring the past, and look- 
ing forward to future friendly meetings. 

Clara Morton was there, with a last new novel for 
each girl; and Susie Codman with the dainty bonbon 
boxes for Dorothy and Priscy, and a reminder as she 
presented them that the girls would get no more of 
her fudge until the next autumn, 


408 DOROTHY BROOKE AT RIDGEMORE 

“ We shall be certain not to forget that/’ assured 
Priscy. “ How can we help remembering such sweet- 
ness? ” 

And then Ned came up with outstretched hand, Ned 
determined to cast no shadow over Dorothy’s sum- 
mer by her sympathy with his trials, and uttering his 
merry wishes with a face as bright as if he had never 
known sorrow. “ A trifling good-by for you and Miss 
Priscy,” he said, giving to each girl a small package. 
“ Not to be opened until you’re a day out, please.” 

“I’ll scoop up tons of copy for our next play,” 
Dorothy said to him. 

“ Thank you,” he answered her, still holding her 
hand that he had taken in farewell. “ But first you 
must scoop up tons of fun, and health, and all good 
things.” 

She came a little nearer to him. “ Has that stock 
gone up ever so little, Ned? ” she asked, too low to be 
overheard. 

“ I forbid you to think of it once,” he answered, his 
face lighting. “ It’s going to boom some day,” he 
laughed. “ And now, good-by ! ” And with a part- 
ing nod and smile to Priscy to whom he had already 
said farewell, he turned away. 

The last moments — and they had come — Olive, 
Harry, Rex, her father! 

“ The very last for you, mother dear,” she whis- 
pered. “ Always your dear little comrade who hates 
to leave you, for all the good times she is going to 
have.” 

The last warning had been given. Those who were 


CASTLE BUILDING 


409 

to remain on shore had betaken themselves there, and 
were standing watching, with wavings of handker- 
chiefs and other signals to the crowd on board. 

“ Doesn’t Dorothy look happy ?” said Grace to 
Bridges who was beside her. 

He turned at the voice in which he noticed that 
there was not an accent of bitterness at the different 
fortunes of the two who had been so alike in fortune; 
not even sadness, but joy in the joy of her friend. 
“ She is a little brick! ” he said to himself. 

Then his eyes left Grace and turned again upon 
Dorothy. She was too far away for him to be sure. 
But it seemed to him that she was looking at Longley. 

They were off! 

Priscy waved. But Dorothy dropped her hand and 
stood quite still, looking at those she was leaving. 

Then as the crowd on shore faded from view, she 
turned and smiled into Priscy’s eyes. 

Colonel Pell behind the girls, touched his wife’s 
arm; and the two stood watching them. At the mo- 
ment he realized how much more his wife had become 
to him now that a common interest in Priscy united 
them. 

Dorothy looking over the broad, and to her undis- 
covered ocean before them, drew a deep breath. Then 
her smile came again, and she turned back to her com- 
panion and asked : 

“ What next, Pell-Mell ? ” 







Dorothy Brooke’s School Days 

BY 

FRANCES CAMPBELL SPARHAWK 
Cloth. 8vo. $1.50. Illustrations by Frank T. Merrill 

“ A spirited, wholesome story, which every wide-awake girl will enjoy. The 
heroine, Dorothy, is always honest and true and interesting, though carrying out 
her impulsive plans in a novel and sometimes headstrong way.” 

— Elizabeth Merritt Gosse in Boston Daily Advertiser. 

“ I don’t suppose the ‘ school girl ’ ever dies out of the heart, however many 
years we may live beyond that strenuous period. As to the bird part of the 
story, I was, of course, particularly interested, and I congratulate Miss Sparhawk 
on a very clever plot and also on what so very few achieve, a truthful account 
of the habits of the several birds mentioned.” — Mrs. Olive Thorne Miller. 

“ Dorothy Brooke is a lovable school girl with a heart large enough to take in 
not only her schoolmates, but also the birds. . . . The story is one that should 
be in every school library.” — Mr. William Dutcher (President National 
Audubon Society) in Bird Lore. 

“ Much of the charm that has made Miss Alcott’s stories dear to the hearts 
of two or three generations of girls is in a beautiful new story by Miss Sparhawk. 
Girls, and girls’ mothers, will be equally glad to get hold of ‘ Dorothy Brooke’s 
School Days.’ . . . The story is perhaps the best girls’ story in a decade.” — 
San Francisco Globe 

“ A graphic picture of school girl life. The characters are well drawn and con- 
sistent. Dorothy is charming; so also are Lulu and Pell-Mell. I like the book 
very much. Its moral influence is of the best.” — William A. Mowry, LL.D. 

“ I’ve read all the author cared to tell about Dorothy, and was sorry there 
was no more of it. Indeed, I begin to think there is more of it.” 

— Aaron Martin Crane. 

“A most beautiful story; a book one would like to place in the hands of 
every girl in the land.” — Nixon Waterman. 

« The book is an inspiring one, showing what one girl can accomplish by tact, 
large-heartedness and good nature.” — Somerville (Mas si) Journal. 

“Full of the fun, frolic and tragedies of school days.” — Los Angeles Times, 


THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 


NEW YORK 


Dorothy Brooke’s Vacation 

BY 

FRANCES CAMPBELL SPARHAWK 
Cloth. 8vo. $1.50. Illustrations by Frank T. Merrill 


“ The story is full of animation and incident and is well told. Certainly, 
Dorothy could not complain when she went back to school in September that 
she had not enjoyed a very lively and interesting vacation. A complete novel 
could hardly have received more care in plot and development. It should prove 
a favorite with yoilng girl readers.” — Brooklyn Eagle. 

“ The author, already well known by ‘ Dorothy Brooke’s School Days ’ and 
her ‘ Life of Lincoln for Boys,’ knows how to tell a story, and that is the secret 
of winning the boy and girl readers. I don’t know why this is called a girls’ 
book exclusively. It seems to me the boys would enjoy it as thoroughly as the 
girls. That may be why the girls like Miss Sparhawk’s books.” — The Pilot. 

“ ‘ Dorothy Brooke’s Vacation ’ has the same charm as its predecessor 
(‘ Dorothy Brooke’s School Days ’) had. It is a great gift to be able to write 
convincingly for young people, and Miss Sparhawk is blessed with that gift. 
Dorothy is just the sort of girl that ought to have a whole series of books 
written about her. I hope she will write them.” — Miss Helen M. Winslow. 

“ A good school-girls’ book is always in demand, is always needed. School- 
girls are always with us. Most of them will read stories, and whoever provides 
parents, teachers and librarians with a wholesome story that every girl will 
delight to read renders the home and school a noble service, . . . and 
Frances Campbell Sparhawk’s * Dorothy Brooke’s Vacation ’ is all that girls, 
teachers, and mothers can ask.” — D r. A. E. Winship. 

“ * Dorothy Brooke’s School Days ’ has a most engaging rival in its sequel, 
‘ Dorothy Brooke’s Vacation,’ a response to the demand of not only the young 
folks but the ‘ grown-ups,’ who are equally interested in the doings of the real- 
istic, lovable, up-to-date ‘ little comrade of mother.’ ” — Newton Graphic . 

“ The heroine is a fine type. The book is replete with incident, and the story 
related is interesting and entertaining.” — Chicago Post. 

“ A bright, breezy piece of writing, destined to please many young ladies of 
sixteen or thereabouts. It is sure to appeal to every girl.” 

— San Francisco Chronicle. 


THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 


NEW YORK 


Dorothy Brooke’s Experiments 

BY 

FRANCES CAMPBELL SPARHAWK 
Cloth. 8vo. $1.50. Illustrations by Frank T. Merrill 


“ If anything, a little more alluring than its predecessors, and will provide 
entertainment for all the young people who read it.” — Cincinnati Times-Star. 

u Neither an old-fashioned account of intellectual development nor an up-to- 
date sketch of trifling contests and crushes. It is a very strong unfolding of 
situations that any college girl must meet in life, not simply in term time, but 
in vacation.” — Hartford Post. 

11 Dorothy meets the larger things of life in a manner which will be an inspira- 
tion as well as furnish entertainment to girl readers.” — Boston Globe. 

u Though attractive and undeniably charming, Dorothy is only human and 
sometimes careless, as when she attempts to drive her brother’s motor-car with- 
out experience. But her experiences and experiments make just the sort of 
story that girls like most.” — Albany Times-Union. 

“ Another volume in Miss Sparhawk’s delightful series. The story, like its 
fascinating predecessors, is of girls and for girls, and long may we hear of 
Dorothy!” — Toronto Globe. 

“ The story is spirited, with fun and frolic, and wholesome, and it has the 
kind of moral influence that pleases the girls, boys, mothers, and teachers. 
There is a larger demand than supply for books of this type. Dorothy is so 
genuine that it is a delight and inspiration to know her.” 

— Brooklyn Standard-Union. 

“ Dorothy has already been the central figure in three of Miss Sparhawk’s 
books and she is quite as fine and interesting in this one. Now she has grown 
up, and her experiments have to do with the problems of life which her added 
years bring. Girl readers should be inspired by the manner in which she meets 
them.” — Portland {Ore.) Times. 

March 27, 1912, 

Dear Miss Sparhawk, — 

I wish you would write another Dorothy Brooke book. I have read 
all of them and like them very much. They are all very good books. I like 
Dorothy Brooke’s School Days the best, but I liked all of them very much. 

I hope you will write one, for I am sure others would like it. 

Please answer my letter. My address is, 

M. B., etc. 


THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 


NEW YORK 


OCT 8 1912 










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